The Subscription
by delightful-fear
Summary: Based on this: "I might pay for a monthly subscription to an escort service where every month an escort tracks me down and seduces me in my daily life." (Thoughts from the shower). John is back in the UK, but he's stuck in a bit of a rut. Some friends get him a subscription to add some excitement back into his life... (AU-Never Met, JOHNLOCK)
1. The Gift

John picked up his mail in the lobby, and made his way up the stairs slowly, using the cane to stabilize his weaker leg. He felt even more tired than normal today, but that might be partly due to the weather. It was winter, and in London, that meant frequent cold rain, and barely any sunlight.

It was such a difference from a year ago, where even in December, Afghanistan had sunny days. It was rarely more than a few degrees above freezing, but at least it was bright out.

John shrugged, sighing to himself as he pushed thoughts of the past away. He opened the door to his bedsit and placed his mail on the desk, hanging up his damp coat.

A few minutes later, he was sitting down at the desk with a big mug of tea. He opened the bills and added them to the ever-growing pile, and grinned when he saw a letter from an old army friend, Tom. Someone who still liked writing a letter on paper instead of using email.

John chuckled as he read the long letter, full of gossip and stories about his old circle of friends and coworkers. People bonded so much, being together in a stressful situation, so far from home. He felt closer to that group of people than anyone in England currently. He missed them all terribly.

The last section had John sitting up a little in his chair, and he re-read it twice, just shaking his head. It couldn't be real, right? It must just be a joke, his old mates having him on.

 **John, I've mentioned you to some other friends here in the last few weeks, and we share the same concern about you. You just don't seem yourself, even though it sounds like you are physically in good shape now. Where is 'Three Continents Watson' that we all know and love?**

 **We understand that you were shaken by the injury and having to leave the army. To leave us and the life you built here, so abruptly. But it's been almost a year now, and seeing a therapist and blogging about your life (seriously, it's sad, dude), doesn't seem to be doing the trick.**

 **The New Year is coming up soon, and we want it to be a better one for you. So, we pooled together some money to get you a Christmas present. A one-year subscription, so you will get something each month. Here's the link and the log in information for you.**

The letter ended with Christmas wishes and nagging him to write soon.

John set the letter down and sipped his tea. He was doing OK, wasn't he? He had a good job at a clinic, earned enough to cover the bills despite being in expensive London, and his shoulder hardly bugged him anymore. He still used the cane, but about half the time didn't really need it. That was progress, for sure.

Did they expect him to be out drinking with mates and chatting up women all the time? He may have been like that a decade ago, but he was older now. He felt it more the next day when he had a pint too many at the pub. And when a woman caught his eye, she wasn't as likely to return his interested gaze. He had faced up to reality. He had a fair amount of wrinkles, and grey in his hair.

Setting down the empty mug, he opened his laptop and checked his blog out of habit. Still no more hits for his last posting. He had a few loyal followers, but his content was pretty mundane. Hardly the type to draw more people in.

Picking up the letter, he entered the website address. Right away, the screen that asked him if he was an adult put him off. With trepidation, he clicked that he was. The website home screen came on, and he groaned. Surely his mates were taking the piss with all of this. With a bold deep red background, the website name was spelled out with a large font. 'Erotic Adventures... Unleash Your Wild Side'.

Escorts! This was an escort website! John checked the address against the one in the letter, and he was in the right place. Chuckling at the nerve of his friends, he logged in with the password Tom provided, wanting to see how far they had taken this joke.

 **Welcome, John.  
Aren't you lucky...or about to get lucky?**

 **Your gift is our Premium One Year Subscription, a whole year of Erotic Adventures cumming your way!**

Rolling his eyes, John clicked for more details. His package involved one pre-paid session a month. The thing that they claimed really set the website apart from the rest, beyond the beauty of their escorts and top notch screening program, was that the escorts knew their client's schedule, and would track them down. Seduce them with no advance notice, a sexy stranger who would pop up in their normal lives.

Despite scoffing at the website, John couldn't help but imagine what it would be like. Going through his daily regular routines, never knowing who might approach him. Or when. Or what might happen. Ten different sexy scenarios popped into his head, and he felt a surge of arousal, much stronger than he had had in ages.

Deciding snail mail was a little too slow for this, John sent a text to Tom.

 **Thanks for the letter, but WTF about the gift?! Did you seriously buy me a dozen fucks with a pro? -JW**

Tom must have been online, because the reply came surprisingly quickly.

 **Merry Christmas, Watson. May you have a happy, HAPPY, New Year. :) -TF**

 **I can't believe this is real. -JW**

 **Look, John, I know it's a bit weird, but why not just go with it? Have fun with it. You are a guy who likes adventures, trying new things. Nobody will know either way. -TF**

Scoffing, John couldn't believe what Tom was saying. If it was a total joke, he would be teasing John way more. But he was actually encouraging him to fuck prostitutes, like it was the key to getting out of his funk. If he actually was in one.

 **John, I even set up the preferences to be someone you'd find attractive. I've heard you mention that doctor, Sarah, a few times. Are you saying if a stranger who looked like her came on to you, you wouldn't go for it? -TF**

That wasn't playing fair. John sighed, unable to deny that he was attracted to Sarah, but hadn't gotten up the nerve to ask her out, and he was afraid of being permanently stuck in the friend zone if he didn't act soon. The fact he had been working there for months and not asked her out yet proved his friends were right. His confidence had been shaken by everything this last year.

 **Ha! You don't even know what she looks like. -JW**

 **They have Google over here too, idiot. It wasn't too hard to find a picture of her. Slim, dark hair, on the tall side. I can see why you fancy her. -TF**

 **Tom, this has gone far enough. I get it. I need to go out more, date more. -JW**

 **Enjoy the gift! Report back after the first 'encounter'. It will be some time in January. Merry Christmas! -TF**

John messaged back, but got no more responses from Tom. He was either at work, or ignoring the texts.

...

-A/N: Another crazy story!

-PLEASE... Don't read this if any of the following isn't your thing: Prostitution, sex in public/semi-public places where you could get caught

-This story is complete, but in draft form, with 13 chapters total. I will edit them and post at least one a week, but likely more frequently since most of the chapters aren't that long.


	2. January

John got another bottle of beer and went to stand near a wall, sipping it as he watched some people dance. The party was in full swing, with loud music and a cheerful, festive crowd.

Somehow, John still felt detached from it all. He barely knew the host, having accepted the last minute, offhand invitation that had seemed better than ringing in the New Year on his own. But the crowd was fairly young and he felt almost like a chaperoning uncle, wearing a cable knit sweater with dark jeans. He'd leave soon. The countdown had been a half hour ago.

January. A new year. Would it be any different from the last? He had a steady job, friends, an OK place to live. Why was it still so hard to get up everyday then? Why did he feel so detached? Like he was going through the motions, feigning smiles to his coworkers to seem normal, like he was a well-adjusted person.

His mind flipped to the escort subscription. It was January now. Would some gorgeous woman actually approach him? Seduce him?

He could imagine a sultry brunette sitting across from him on the tube, giving him the eye as she crossed her legs, revealing a lot of thigh with the high slit on her skirt. Getting off the train at his stop, and having her follow, her high heels clicking on the cement. Turning to find her right behind him, dragging him into a dirty, public washroom. Quick, nasty sex, bending her over the sink and yanking up her skirt. Getting passed a condom as he pulled her thong to the side. Fucking fast and hard, both watching in the mirror, never knowing if they would be interrupted.

He took another sip of beer, feeling a little aroused. Soon, he'd be home, alone, and he would have a good long wank, thinking about this fantasy. One of many that had been running through his mind since he'd seen that website. Maybe it had just been a joke gift from his old pals, but that didn't mean he couldn't enjoy it.

Maybe his seductress was even at this party now, watching him, waiting for a chance to get him alone. The idea sent another ping of arousal through him, and he scanned the crowd. Would it be a woman like Tom had mentioned? Slim, tall, dark hair...

Most women at the party were with a date, standing close to a man, chatting, dancing. John dismissed them in his perusal, his eyes lingering on the ones on their own or with other women. One with long straight hair, almost black, was dancing in a deep blue dress that showed off her slim curves. She glanced his way, likely feeling his gaze on her, and her full lips twitched into a small smile. Could it be her? His woman for the month? He could imagine the things that wonderful mouth could do for him.

She looked his way a few more times, and John swallowed hard, nerves suddenly springing up inside him. He hadn't had sex with anyone for ages. If this was really going to happen, was he ready for it? He set down his empty beer bottle and turned to find the washroom.

After using the facilities, he splashed cold water on his face and dried off. Looked at himself in the mirror, long and hard. He could do this. He could summon up his bravado, act with his old easy confidence, even if he didn't truly have it. His heart was thumping, but he was ready.

Leaving the washroom, he worked his way back through the crowds, ready to give the woman an encouraging grin and see where it took them. But as he stepped into the living room, he saw her near the flat's entrance, slipping on a winter coat and kissing the host goodbye. Leaving with a couple other girlfriends.

He sighed, feeling a bit disappointed. She obviously wasn't his lady for the month. It wasn't going to happen tonight. He might as well leave too.

Going back down the hall, he stepped into the bedroom, and found his coat in the pile on the bed. He was about to exit when a tall, slim man came in.

"Leaving so soon?" The man said, his light green eyes flicking down to the coat in his hands.

John gave a little shrug. "Well, yeah. It's after midnight now, so might as well head home."

The man took a step closer, giving a small smile. "But if you stay, you might meet an interesting stranger."

"Who would be interested in meeting me, though? I'm at least five years older than everyone else here." John gave a light chuckle.

The man took another step forward, reaching behind John to push the door to the bedroom shut, caging him in. "I'd be interested."

The words and the closeness of the younger man made his intentions very obvious, and John swallowed hard as he looked up at his face in surprise. He was an attractive man, with dark curly hair, sharp cheekbones and bright, intelligent eyes. "Oh, I'm not-"

His words were stopped by the man closing in, his full lips against John's, the kiss just the perfect combination of heat and pressure. Shocked, John froze, and the man kept kissing him, stepping even closer to press John against the door.

Maybe it was all those dirty fantasies that had been running through his head earlier, but John could feel his body responding. The man was now kissing his neck, the scratch of whiskers against his sensitive skin making it obvious that it was a man, not a woman, doing it. The man shifted closer, pressing a leg between John's, his thigh rubbing against his hardening cock.

Biting off a groan, John pushed at the man's shoulders. "Um...no, no...I'm not..I don't want...". He struggled to find the right words.

"Are you so sure about that?" The young man asked, his voice an intimate, rough whisper. He rocked his thigh against John, and smiled when he responded by closing his eyes with a gasp. Planting a soft kiss by John's ear, he stayed right there. "Look, you don't have to do anything, OK? Just let me make you feel good." His large hand moved between them, cupping John, rubbing.

John couldn't hide that he was rock hard, and couldn't believe it was from being with a man. That he was responding so strongly to a male partner. This was so out of the blue, the sudden encounter, the party still going on right outside the door. Any minute someone could interrupt them, knock on the door, looking for their coats.

The man dropped to his knees before John, his fingers quickly undoing his jeans. "Close your eyes. All mouths feel the same. This could just be the woman you were watching earlier."

His underwear was pushed down, and he breathed a sigh of relief to have his cock out of those tight jeans. He felt the hot, moist breath of the man on him, and a shudder of pure want went through him.

The man seemed to be pausing, looking up at John. He couldn't resist, giving a small nod, and groaned as the tip of his cock was taken into his mouth. Closed his eyes as a tongue swirled over it, sucking, licking.

His hand came up to steady himself, landing on the man's shoulder. He must have taken that as encouragement, because he took John deep, right to the base. John cried out at the sensation, his hand going into the man's thick hair, holding him there.

The man started to really move then, using his hands to stroke as he licked and sucked, often taking John deep. John could only drop his head back against the door, both hands buried in the man's curls, giving little tugs without even noticing it when he hit a particularly great spot. Not even noticing how often he was moaning.

It was over too soon, John tensing and giving the man a little push on his shoulder as a warning. But the man stayed in place, his strokes even faster, his tongue flicking against the underside of the tip. John let out a harsh groan, the intense orgasm seeming to go on and on, filling the stranger's mouth.

John slumped against the door, practically seeing stars. The stranger zipped his jeans, tidying him, and stood. He smoothed his messed up hair with both hands, giving John a grin of satisfaction, seeing how wrecked he was from everything.

Grabbing a long dark coat from the bed, he pulled it on and turned the collar up. He reached for the doorknob, slowly pulling the door open and forcing John out of his stupor to step out of the way. He leaned in, giving him a quick kiss. "See you next month."

With that cryptic comment, he was gone, slipping out of the flat before John's stunned brain could react.

Shaking his head to clear it, John got his own coat on, said a quick goodbye to the host before leaving. The long tube ride home was full of drunken revelers, but he didn't even notice, his mind too full of what had just happened.

He had actually just let a stranger, a man, blow him at a party? In a bedroom where they could have been found at any second? Clearly, pure lust had been making all the decisions for a while.

The man had been assertive with his attentions, but ultimately John had consented to it. The man's statement, that all mouths were the same and he could just imagine it was a woman blowing him, was complete bullocks. Perhaps it had helped overcome John's initial resistance, but the moment his cock was in that mouth, it was clear it was a man's. He sucked so perfectly, his strokes hard. And the way he easily took John right to the base, again and again. He had never been deep throated like that. Never.

By the time he was back in his bedsit, he was aroused again. The encounter had run through his mind again and again and again. The best blowjob he'd ever had in his whole life, by a long shot. It was a hell of a way to start the year.

He stripped quickly, stepping into a hot shower. With his soapy hands wrapped around his cock, John thrust into them. He pumped hard and fast, getting close, then easing off, cooling down, before going fast again. When he finally came, his eyes were closed, remembering having his hands buried in thick dark curls the last time, his stranger taking every drop.

It wasn't until he was dropping off to sleep that he remembered the stranger's final words. See you next month. He fell asleep with a puzzled grin.

...

John woke up, feeling well rested in a way he hadn't for ages. He stretched in bed, thinking over why this could be, and the previous night flashed through his memory.

He just shook his head. Had it all really happened, just like that, out of the blue? He wasn't the type of guy who had random hookups with strangers anymore.

And why had that man approached him? John hadn't even noticed him at the party, but he had been intent on the women. The man was attractive, tall and slim. Dressed well in a fitted dress shirt and trousers. Did he find the party lacking in other gay men and had somehow set his sights on John? Observed him obsessing over the dancing woman and thought him horny enough to not be too choosy?

John scoffed at the thought. It turned out to be a correct assumption. If he hadn't been so primed already, aroused by fantasies all night, he probably would have just firmly pushed the man away. Said thanks for the offer, but he wasn't into men.

Instead, he had let it happen. Did he have regrets? Feel disgusted or embarrassed? John thought about it, really pondering everything, and eventually sighed. He truly wasn't bothered by it. It wasn't something he had sought, or been curious about, but it had been incredible. Perhaps it was just the strange situation, a perfect storm of horniness level, alcohol to reduce inhibitions, and the idea of having semi-public sex with a stranger. But it had been too good to say never again. If there was an opportunity for something like that to happen again, John was willing.

See you next month.

The words popped back in John's brain, and he was more alert now. Thinking them over. Did he somehow know the man, maybe through the party's host, and there was some event planned in February? Nothing came to mind.

But then a thought clicked into place, and John sat up with a gasp. Was that man his subscription? An escort?

As he went again through everything, it all fit. Being seduced by a stranger somewhere in his everyday life. That was the whole premise on the website. The man had definitely seduced him, pursued him, won him over. Having no compunctions over sex at the party, and his incredible skills...those both pointed to a professional. Plus, he really was way out of John's league. Too young, too pretty. If John was truly gay and seeking partners, he wouldn't think he had a chance with a gorgeous man like that.

He brought up the texts from Tom. He mentioned setting the preferences; dark hair, slim, tall. The man certainly fit that description as well. Had Tom accidentally selected 'male' instead of 'female'?

The thoughts had him scrambling to his laptop, going right to the Erotic Adventures website. He looked at his user profile, but there was some strange 'gift' setting that restricted his access to most of the settings. Reading over the FAQ wasn't much help either.

He looked at his phone, wondering if he should text Tom to ask him about it. "So, did you set me up to get monthly sex with male prostitutes instead of female?" Somehow, he just couldn't think of a way to ask the question that wouldn't be completely embarrassing. John had a reputation, but he never went into any great detail when talking about his sex life with buddies.

The more he thought about it, the more it felt like the most likely scenario. The man was a sex worker, and apparently he would be ambushing John sometime each month. It was a bit surprising that it was the same person each month. Was that another one of the choices he couldn't see in the settings?

Well, at least he would recognize the man next time. It wouldn't be as shocking. He could stop things before they went so far, and politely decline the rest of the subscription. The man surely wouldn't mind. He'd still get paid, and wouldn't have to do the work.

...

-Thanks everyone for reading and for the reviews. I haven't written that much explicit fanfic lately, so hopefully it goes OK.


	3. February

"Smile, it's a party!" Sarah smirked at John after passing him a glass of wine.

Rolling his eyes a little, John accepted the drink. "It's a work event. This is work."

Putting her arm around her date's waist, Sarah snuggled against his side. "Would I have invited Brian to come if it was just for work? We are going to check out the trivia game in the other room. Want to join us, or stay here and sulk?"

"You two go ahead. Maybe I'll go there later." John grumbled.

Sarah nodded, and walked with Brian through the crowd, chatting easily together the whole way. John sulked by himself, sipping the wine, nibbling on some cheese and fruit.

It should have been him, snuggled against her side. Should have been him that she spoke about in glowing terms; sharing all the places they had gone together with staff at work. But instead it was Brian, and he was stuck here alone.

He had no one to blame but himself. He had been attracted to Sarah since they met, but hadn't acted on it. Was it any big surprise that she had met someone else? She was a smart, beautiful woman.

The party was put on annually by one of the big drug companies for doctors and other medical professionals. He should be networking, sharing a drink or two with colleagues. Or at least checking out the entertainment. The company had booked many rooms of the conference center section of a hotel, with a trivia game going on in one, and karaoke in another. John was sticking to the main room, with the bar and food buffet.

He'd finish his drink and go. He had made an appearance and he really wasn't in the mood to be around people tonight.

Out of habit, his eyes scanned for a man slightly taller than most, and that dark curly hair. It was already February 10th, and he hadn't appeared yet. John had been watching for him since the 1st. He knew just what he would say, how he would decline his advances, firmly and politely. All that was left to do was watch for the man to appear.

A band was setting up in one corner, and when they started their set, their stage area was lit up. The lights in the rest of the room were dimmed, making it feel more like a nightclub. Loud music, a crowd that was getting liquored up, some people making a dancing area near the band.

John wasn't interested in staying to hear the music. He set down his empty glass. As he was turning to go, he noticed a woman sitting on a stool at one of the tall cocktail tables, watching him. She was wearing a short, black dress, her long crossed legs covered in black tights.

Her interested look sparked something in John, and he accepted another glass of wine from a passing server as he thought about what to do. It didn't take long to decide to approach the woman, since he had bemoaning not taking action with Sarah all night. Here was a chance to prove to himself that he could still do this. Chat up a woman.

She was sitting alone, surprising for such an attractive woman, but John didn't question his luck. As he moved closer, she dropped her gaze, and he looked his full, admiring her slim body, her short dark hair, and her skillful make-up that played up her large eyes.

"Good evening, I'm John." He decided to go with a direct approach, leaning in close to be heard above the music. Her perfume was light, with a floral note.

Looking back up at him through her thick lashes, he was momentarily stunned at the beautiful light blue-green color, framed with smoky dark eye shadow that made them stand out even more. Her lips quirked into a small smile, her lipstick a neutral shade. "Sherlock."

The voice was definitely low, and John's eyes widened in sudden realization. Sherlock wasn't a girl's name. He looked closer at her, now noticing her big hands, her very flat chest, how large she was in the shoulders and upper arms for a woman. Her dress was form fitting, with long sleeves and high mock neck that covered up a lot of skin. The black tights hid the rest.

"It's you. From New Year's." John backed up a step, bumping into someone, turning to make apologies instinctively. Feeling confused, and just wanting to leave.

A hand grasped his wrist and he turned back. Sherlock was standing beside him now, and John was still reeling, trying to fit his memories of his sexy stranger with this different version of the same person. He was about six feet tall, but he wore the women's clothing with grace, his mannerisms making him pass easily for a tall, striking woman.

"What are you doing here?" John whispered, tugging away from Sherlock's light hold.

Sherlock stepped closer to whisper in John's ear. "I'm here for you, of course." His hand went to John's waist. "Shall we find somewhere a bit more private to...talk?"

All John's practiced words to say to this man had vanished, and as he searched for other ones, he noticed Sarah coming back into the room with her date. She spotted him, her eyes scanning over Sherlock, before giving him an approving nod. She seemed to be coming their way, likely to say goodbye before she left.

"Oh shit!" John grabbed Sherlock's wrist, yanking him the other direction, searching for the other door.

Sherlock willingly followed. "Slow down, John. A little eager, are we?" He chuckled softly.

Shaking his head at that, John looked around for a place to evade Sarah. It would take too long to wait for an elevator. The door to the stairs was closer, and John pulled Sherlock with him, heading up a flight to wait on the landing, his heart beating fast.

Sarah was an active woman, often taking the stairs instead of an elevator, so John wasn't sure if he was entirely safe. He leaned against the wall, looking down at the door below. It might take her a while, looking for him before giving up, and then collecting her coat to leave. He wanted to be completely sure she had left before he returned to get his own coat.

Sherlock looked around with an appraising eye. "Well, there is nobody around, but you will have to keep quiet. Any moans will really echo in here." He stepped closer to John, placing his hands on the wall on each side of him as he leaned in for a hard, raunchy kiss.

"Sherlock-" John managed to gasp before he was being kissed again, one of Sherlock's hands moving to cup him. John's body betrayed him, getting harder at the familiar touch, reacting swiftly.

"We shouldn't be doing this here..." John whispered, still trying to catch his breath, and putting his hands on the man's shoulders to push him away.

Sherlock dropped down gracefully to his knees, opening John's trousers quickly. "Yes, aren't you a bad, bad boy...doing this here."

All other arguments fled John's mind as that incredible mouth took him in, making him fully erect in seconds. He had wanked to the memory of the New Year's blowjob almost daily since then, reliving every second, until he was scoffing at himself. It couldn't have been that good. It was exciting and he had been drinking. He was remembering it as better than it actually was.

Ten seconds into this blowjob made him realize it was even better than the last one. John's hands went to Sherlock's hair, keeping him from going anywhere, groaning when he sucked him hard.

Sherlock reached up, covering John's mouth with his hand. "Be quiet! We have to be quiet, or we'll get caught." His whisper even seemed loud in the quiet stairway, only the thump of the music from the party slightly heard through the thick door.

John tried his best, but Sherlock was working him over, hard and fast, probably trying to make John cum quickly before they got caught. John was looking down, watching Sherlock take him deep, his eyes watering a little and making his make-up run. He was getting close, his hands clenching in his dark curls.

Sherlock pushed a finger in his mouth, probably to shut him up, but John was too far gone to do anything but suck it. His hips were moving now, and Sherlock was taking it, letting him fuck his face in a way he had always wanted to with previous partners, but never dared. Too soon, he was shuddering against Sherlock, his hand covering John's mouth as he tried to stifle the sound.

Barely a minute later, John was zipped up and Sherlock was straightening out his clothes. He took a tissue out of a small purse, and fixed his makeup using a compact mirror.

John felt dazed, watching the man apply lipstick with a deft hand. "Why...why did you dress as a woman tonight?"

Arching an eyebrow, Sherlock gave him a mocking look. "You seemed a bit freaked out last time, being with a man, even though you obviously enjoyed it. I thought if I looked more feminine, maybe it would work for you better."

"Um...you look incredible, but I like you fine as you really are. You don't need to cross dress, for me." John found himself saying.

The comment got him a half smile, and a quick kiss before Sherlock was heading down the stairs. "See you next month."

The tight black dress really showed his shape better than John had seen before, clinging his slim body. John's gaze lingered on the unexpected curve of his ass when he paused to pull open the stairway door, peeking through to check the hotel hallway. Was that really him, or was he padded to give him a more feminine shape?

...

-A/N: Don't worry, Sherlock will be playing around with different approaches, trying to figure out what John likes, when he doesn't even know yet himself.

-I decided to post daily for the first five chapters, and then i'll slow down posting after that.


	4. March

John stepped on to the crowded tube, shifting through the people until he found a clear corner to stand, a pole nearby to hold on to when needed.

He felt tired, as it had been a busy day at work, patients keeping the waiting room full. He'd barely had time to gobble down a sandwich for lunch, and grab a cup of tea in the afternoon.

Holding on to the pole, he let his eyes drift shut; the rocking motions of the train making him feel sleepy. He had ridden this line enough times he always seemed to know when it was his stop, jarring himself out of a little snooze.

People moved around with each station, sometimes nudging against him as they passed. He didn't really take notice, letting his mind drift, thinking about what he would make for dinner when he got home. He had a package of mince he needed to use up, so maybe he would make a big batch of pasta sauce.

Someone stepping into the small space behind him roused him slightly from his sleepy musings. The train must really be getting crowded for someone to squeeze in there. He shifted a little, finding a bit more personal space.

But the person moved again, pressing right against him. This was highly unusual. Polite Brits tried to allow for some space between strangers. John's eyes opened, and he looked around for a space he could move to.

He was about to move when hands grabbed his hips, pulling him back even more firmly against someone. "John..."

The husky whisper close to his ear sent a wave of pure lust through him. He relished the hands on him, and rocked back against his body.

Sherlock had been on his mind so often. Incredible sex followed by weeks of waiting for the next month. Then, as soon as the 1st of the new month came, John was hyper aware of his surroundings whenever he was out of his home or work. Sherlock had already tracked him down twice. How much was information from Tom, and how much had he found himself with research? Either way, it was almost March 21st today. Three long, long weeks of waiting for Sherlock to make his appearance. Unable to say to himself that he wasn't extremely attracted to the man. He hadn't spent time pondering what it meant. He just knew he wanted more.

Sherlock gave a low chuckle, his breath sending a tingle of awareness along John's skin. "Already hot for me, aren't you? Good."

It was still rainy and chilly most days, so John was wearing his shooting jacket. It was black, reaching the tops of his thighs. One of Sherlock's hands slipped under the bottom of it, and traced along the fly of his trousers.

Part of John was shocked that Sherlock was touching him like this, and the other part argued that his coat hid everything. They were in their own little corner, and nobody was paying them any attention. Still, it was very exciting, and he pushed against Sherlock's hand, shamelessly asking for more.

His other hand was holding John in place, and he pressed closer. His long black coat must have been open, hiding what he was doing, and allowing John to feel how hard Sherlock was, pressing against his ass. It was the first time he had revealed that he was aroused by their sessions as well, and the knowledge had John rocking back against him. Wanting him as affected as he was.

Squeezing and stroking John, teasing him, while grinding against his ass, while both of them tried to keep their motions from getting noticed, had John close to the edge very quickly. "Sherlock, I'm close...". He whispered, warning the man to stop so they could get off the train, and find somewhere more private to finish this.

But his whisper had Sherlock groaning in his ear, and his motions continued. Pretty soon, John was clamping his lips shut as he came, Sherlock holding him tight. He didn't let go, grinding against John, his breath fast by John's ear. Hearing his breath catch, and his small gasp as he went over the edge.

John was glad his coat was long, hopefully covering the wetness seeping through the fabric of his trousers. He gave a quick glance around, and nobody seemed to be watching them. He was still pretty shocked it had happened like that. So fast and intense.

"Shit. This is my stop. Sherlock, come back to my place to clean up. Stay for a bit." The invitation came effortlessly, just wanting more time with the man than a quick sex session. Wanting, needing, to know more.

Sherlock took a step away, and John turned towards him. His face was a little flushed, his eyes glittering, and John regretted not having watched as he had found his pleasure. He seemed a little surprised at John's request though, and just gave him a little push as the train pulled into his station. "See you-"

"Next month. I get it." John huffed, getting off the train and silently watching as the automatic doors closed and Sherlock was whisked away.

Yes, the sex was good and it was exciting having a sexy stranger show up unannounced. It all appealed to his sense of adventure, something that had been lacking since he returned to England.

But he had never been one to just have casual hookups. Sex was usually saved for women he had dated for a while and gotten to know a little. He knew nothing about Sherlock beyond his name and profession. He wanted more.

…

-A/N: Thanks for reading! It's lovely seeing the reviews too.


	5. April

"Prostate check in room four." The clinic's clerk handed him a clipboard, and he tried not to sigh.

Being a doctor was good work overall, and he liked the idea of helping people. There were still things he didn't enjoy, and trying to make men feel at ease while he pushed a lubed, gloved finger up their asshole was at the top of his list. They were invariably nervous, clenched tight, and he had to get them to relax before he could even start the exam.

He pinned on his professional friendly expression as he opened the door, looking down at the clipboard for the client's name. "Good day, Mr. Holmes."

He looked up at the patient, and almost stumbled. Sitting on the exam room table was Sherlock, dressed in only the paper medical gown the clinic provided.

The door closed behind him with a click, making John jump, and Sherlock chuckled at his reaction. "Good day, Dr. Watson."

That voice. Those eyes. That mouth. John swallowed hard, trying to keep from being distracted. "Are you really here for a prostate exam, Sherlock?"

Giving a bit of a-naughty grin, Sherlock nodded slowly. "Yes. You can understand, I'm sure, that I need to stay healthy in my line of work."

John sighed. Should he do the exam, or get another doctor in the clinic to? Could he be impartial and do it right? If he asked another doctor to do it, it would lead to questions, and he wasn't even sure of the answers himself. Better to just do this.

"Will you answer my questions?" John finally asked, sitting down on a wheeled stool and glancing at the clipboard.

Sherlock shrugged. "If they are medical questions, and relevant."

John scanned the scant information on the form. His age was five years younger than his own, and a Baker St address was listed as his home. He claimed to be on no prescriptions.

"How long have you been a sex worker?" John asked, taking out what he would need for the exam from a nearby cabinet.

Sherlock didn't seem embarrassed by the question. "Five years or so."

John looked over Sherlock, looking for signs of illness. He appeared to be a healthy, fit man, with clear skin and bright eyes. The only thing that caught his eye were the old scars on his inner arms.

Seeing where he was looking, Sherlock ran a hand over them. "Souvenirs of my foolish youth."

"When was the last time you used drugs?" John asked, trying to keep his tone neutral.

Sherlock glanced to the left before meeting John's gaze again. "Seven years ago."

John nodded, a little surprised the sex work wasn't related to his drug use, like most cases he had seen. "OK, we can do the exam now. Please stand up with your feet shoulder width apart, and bend over to place your elbows on the examination table."

He stood, pulling on latex gloves, and flicking off the top of the medical lube bottle. When he looked back at his patient, he had to make sure he breathed normally.

Sherlock was in the position, the paper hospital gown split along the back to reveal a lot of skin. Most of his ass and his legs were bare, his skin pale with very little hair. His ass was fuller than he expected for such a slim man, a pleasing curve he just wanted to run his hand over.

Pushing a lubed finger against his asshole, John tried to act normal as it sunk in, definitely easier than it did with straight, older patients. Sherlock was obviously no stranger to having his ass prepped for sex, and handled his single finger with no problems, only letting out a small sigh.

"OK, Sherlock? No pain?" John said, keeping still.

"No, Doctor." Sherlock replied, his voice a little breathless.

John did the normal exam, moving his finger until he felt the prostate, and used small circular motions to determine its size and shape. He also pressed on it firmly, making sure it felt right.

Normally, he would remove his finger at this point, and wipe the excess lube off the patient. Turn away to make notes while the patient sat back on the examination table. Made sure they had time to feel comfortable again.

This time, his patient let out a bit of a sigh. Perhaps a moan. "Could you use two fingers, Doctor?"

This wasn't normal medical procedure, but it didn't stop John from lubing up another digit, and pressing them both in slowly. Watching, fascinated, by the way Sherlock took them, shifting a little and pressing back towards John.

John stroked his prostate with both fingers, hoping he was doing it right. This was new territory for him. But soon, Sherlock was breathing faster, and rocking back on his fingers.

"One more, please..." Sherlock gasped, looking over his shoulder at John. His face was a little flushed, his eyes darker, his lips plump.

John was completely hard now, knowing it was crazy to be doing this in his own office. The door was unlocked and could swing open at any time. One glance at them, and it would be obvious what was really happening.

But he still was pushing in a third finger, seeing how Sherlock's breath caught, his small throaty moans. He was so responsive. Sexy sounds John had missed hearing last time on the train.

There was a movement, and John saw that Sherlock was holding a condom package near his shoulder, the implication clear. Sherlock prepped and ready, John aroused, a condom right there...

He pulled his fingers out and removed the gloves. His hands were shaking as he unzipped his trousers, put on the condom, and rubbed lube over it. He was doing this. Really doing this.

A few moments later, he was fully in, breathing hard. Trying not to cum. Tight, hot, incredible. He was fucking Sherlock. Fucking a man. The idea alone was almost enough to send him over the edge.

Sherlock gave an impatient grunt. "John, move... Fuck me...".

This wasn't going to last long. John panted, thrusting hard and fast, with none of his normal finesse or patience. Sherlock was matching his rhythm, softly moaning. He shifted, and John could tell he was stroking himself with one hand, bracing his body with his other arm.

John leaned down, biting into Sherlock's covered shoulder, trying to stifle his noises as his orgasm hit, so powerful he was afraid his knees would give out. Sherlock was shuddering under him, and John planted kisses on the back of his neck. "Yes, Yes, cum for me..."

They caught their breath, weakly chuckling as they pulled apart. John tied off the condom and put it in a tissue. He passed Sherlock some tissues and they both cleaned up.

"At least this time, I didn't cum all over my own clothes." Sherlock smirked, passing John the stained paper gown.

Normally, it would just go into the garbage, but John didn't want to risk it being somehow discovered. He roughly folded it into a small shape, and set it to the side by the condom. He'd have to sneak them out of the clinic when he left tonight.

Knowing Sherlock's habits better by now, John stood by the door as Sherlock dressed, admiring his toned, slim body. When he was done, he walked to John with cheeky smile. "Move out of the way, Doctor."

Shaking his head, John simply gave him a smile. "Not until you do two things. Promise me that we will have more time together next time, somewhere private."

Sherlock's eyebrows lifted at the request. "Hmmm...Fine, I promise. And the second thing?"

"Kiss me." John said, licking his lips unconsciously.

That request got a wide grin, and Sherlock's arms came around him. The kiss was long and deep, exactly what John had wanted. Needed.

Unfortunately, it ended too soon, with Sherlock backing away with a chuckle when John tried to lean in for more. "See you next month, Doctor."

...

-A/N: Thanks to everyone who is following this. I will be slowing down posting chapters now.


	6. May

John said goodnight to Mike and his friends, leaving some cash to cover his drinks on the table. It had been fun, watching the game with them, in a crowded pub.

As he stepped outside, he looked both ways, trying to remember where the tube station was. He wasn't in this part of London that often. He was pretty sure it was a couple blocks to his right.

The neighborhood had a much different feel this late at night. There were people walking around, but many were leaning against buildings, sometimes calling out to people as they passed. Street walkers. Drug dealers.

"Where are you rushing off to, blondie? Come here and talk to me."

John just shook his head at the questions that came his way, and kept walking without pausing.

"Looking for some company tonight?" The question came from a shadowy doorway, but the voice made John freeze in his tracks. As he looked towards where he had heard it, a man stepped forward into the light.

John took his time, looking Sherlock over from head to toe. His hair seemed a little longer, messy dark curls that John always wanted to sink his hands into. Black eyeliner made his eyes seem even greener. A tight light grey t-shirt showed off his slim chest. Black biker jeans encased his long legs, ending in lace up Doc Martin boots. He looked incredible. A wet dream on legs.

"Fuck yes." John finally replied, his voice already raspy with arousal. It had been far too long since he'd last seen Sherlock, since he'd fucked that beautiful, tight ass. Long weeks filled with anticipation, masturbating often to memories of their past encounters.

Sherlock gave him a slow, wicked smile, and pushed John against a brick wall. Holding John's head tilted to the perfect angle, he gave him a deep, hungry kiss. His tongue stroked along John's, making him moan in pure need.

When he finally pulled back, John was a panting mess. "Please, let's go somewhere private. I want you naked, on a bed...". He wasn't too proud to beg, just needing more time with this sexy man.

Nodding, Sherlock took his hand, leading him down an alley. It was dark, with trash strewn about, twisting until John lost his sense of direction. They emerged in a dingey area, and Sherlock soon had them in a run down hotel. It was the type of place that rented rooms by the hour. John stood to the side, feeling completely out of place, while Sherlock talked to the front desk, coming back with a key.

Finally, they were in a tiny hotel room, alone. John didn't care how awful it looked; he only cared about finally being alone with Sherlock. They were immediately kissing as soon as the door locked behind them, John's hands everywhere on Sherlock, wanting everything. Greedy, frantic.

Sherlock let out a deep, sexy chuckle, and let John do what he wanted. John soon had his t-shirt off, kissing and nipping at his skin as he started undoing Sherlock's jeans. He was about to slide them down when Sherlock pushed him into a chair.

He lifted his foot, resting his heel on the edge of the seat between John's legs. "Better take these off first."

Swallowing hard, John nodded, running his hands over the smooth leather until he found the laces. They were tightly double knotted, and John picked at them, trying to loosen and untie them. As he worked, Sherlock lowered the front of the boot, pressing firmly right against John's hard cock.

Groaning, John kept at his task, finally get the boot undone and pulling it off. Sherlock soon had his other foot in the same position, and it seemed to take even longer to get that one off.

Finally, Sherlock stood in front of John, letting him push his tight jeans down his long legs. Still sitting in his chair, John was at the perfect height to really appreciate Sherlock in just his black boxer briefs, molded to his slim body.

His hand trembling slightly, he reached out, tracing over the hard cock right in front of him. Sherlock was watching, his eyes heated as John spread his fingers out over the dark material possessively. Cupping, stroking, exploring. This was the first cock he'd ever touched aside from his own, outside of work situations.

But before he could pull down his underwear, Sherlock stepped away and went to the bed. He pulled back the covers, and moved the pillows into a better position before sprawling out on it.

"Strip for me, John. Slowly." Sherlock's voice was a rough whisper in the quiet room; the only other sound their faster breathing, with the distant street noises in the background. Street light and some neon signage made the room bright enough.

John obeyed, realizing that even though they had had sex four times, but he had always been fully clothed. He hadn't been naked with a lover since coming back to England, and even his arousal couldn't override his nerves as he undid the buttons on his shirt.

His eyes went back to Sherlock, looking simply gorgeous on the bed, waiting for him. The younger man ran a hand down his chest, and slipped it inside his briefs, stroking slowly. It was the sexiest fucking thing John had ever seen.

His own nerves were forgotten, watching Sherlock lazily masturbate as he stripped. Aside from the shoulder scar, John felt comfortable with the rest of his body. When he was down to his own basic white briefs, he crawled on to the bed, right over Sherlock.

"Fuck, do you know how long I fantasized about you like this?" John groaned, straddling the man and leaning down to kiss him properly. His old experience was coming back to him, and John knew how to kiss. He grinned in satisfaction when Sherlock moaned, his hands running down John's back to land on his ass. Arching his hips upwards to grind against him, hard cocks rubbing with only a thin barrier of material between them.

Within a few heated minutes, Sherlock was rolling John onto his back, and reaching over the side of the bed for his jeans. He pulled some lube and condoms from a pocket, placing them on the nightstand. Moving into a kneeling position, he slowly peeled off his underwear, and lay down beside John, completely naked.

John wiggled out of his own pants, and rolled on to his side, just looking Sherlock over. A year ago, he never would have thought he would be naked like this with another man, wanting him so desperately he didn't even know what to do first.

Sherlock simply lay still, watching John with half-lowered eyelids, his faster breathing and erection showing how aroused he was as well. Giving John the time he needed, curious what he would do.

John ran a hand lightly down his chest, and wrapped it around his cock, stroking slowly. Sherlock gasped, hips twitching upwards in response, and John leaned in to kiss him. Catching his moans as he continued rubbing, stroking, exploring.

"Lube..." Sherlock whispered, when John's talented mouth moved down his neck, finding his sensitive spots.

John broke away, his eyes glittering, face flushed with arousal, grabbing the small bottle and putting a generous amount in his hand. Sherlock moaned when his slick fingers were around him again, fucking up into his fist.

"Prep me, John." Sherlock panted, spreading his legs apart with amazing flexibility. John wasted no time, his lubed fingers working into him with more confidence.

A few minutes later, John had a condom on, lubed and ready. Sherlock pulled his legs upwards, and John shifted to kneel as close as possible. It was more intimate in this position, looking down at Sherlock's face as he pushed in slowly, savoring it.

With his hands on John's ass, Sherlock pulled him in, encouraging a hard, fast pace. John always wanted to take things slow, enjoy it, but in the heat of the moment he couldn't resist, fucking Sherlock, pounding into him so hard the bed was banging against the wall loudly.

"Yes, yes, yes..." Sherlock groaned, tilting his head back as his hips rose to meet each thrust, his hand going down to stroke his lubed cock.

That beautiful wanton display had John shifting until he was rubbing right against Sherlock's prostate with each stroke, wanting him to cum first, to feel his ass spasming around John. He was so, so close to the edge himself, and he pushed deeper, just wanting every sensation he could feel.

Sherlock let out a throaty moan, tensing up completely against John. He shoved deep as he could and stayed there, watching as Sherlock came apart under him, his hand a blur as he shot out several times, his mouth open, eyes closed tight.

It only took a few more strokes until John was there too, his orgasm intense, feeling Sherlock's hands on his ass keeping him as close as possible. As close as they could be, sharing this. Naked, completely open and vulnerable to each other.

John gave him a soft kiss, and pulled out slowly. "Are you OK? I was pretty rough with you there." He dealt with the condom, and there weren't any tissues around, so he used a corner of the bed sheet to clean up.

"I'm fine. More than fine" Sherlock drawled, looking completely relaxed and happy.

Shooting him a smile, John nodded in agreement. "I'll say that you are." He moved closer, giving him a slow kiss. Curiosity had him pulling back, looking down at the cum streaked over his chest. With a couple fingers, he traced along the wet trails, spreading it over his skin.

His hand went lower, Sherlock's cock still slick with lube but soft now. He flicked a gaze up to Sherlock, but sensed no objection, so he continued his explorations. It was so much different than touching himself, cupping his scrotum, squeezing his balls lightly. Lazy fingers went lower, slipping inside. Hot, looser than before when he had prepped him, his prostate not as swollen. Sherlock shuddered when John stroked over it.

"Too soon?"

Sherlock gave a weak chuckle. "Soon implies there will be more later."

"Do you have to rush off to somewhere else?" John asked, and the thought of Sherlock being with another man, another customer, had him pulling his hands away. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't..."

"No, no...I'm yours for the night." Sherlock said, running his hand over John's shoulder soothingly.

"Good." John grinned, returning to his explorations. He was taking everything in, how Sherlock looked, felt and smelled. The mix of his cologne, sweat and sex.

He wished he was brave enough to suck Sherlock like he had fantasized about, feeling him get harder in his mouth, his hands in John's hair. Daringly, John leaned down, licking across some skin on his chest. The taste was a little bitter.

Sherlock chuckled, sitting up. "I'll be right back." He got up, strolling naked into the bathroom. Gorgeous.

A few minutes later, he came out, cleaned up, his eyeliner mostly washed off. He looked more like himself.

John took his turn in the bathroom, finding it tiny but surprisingly clean for such a divey hotel. He splashed his face with water, and used a wet facecloth to freshen up elsewhere.

Sherlock was under the sheet, looking relaxed. John wondered what he was thinking, wanted to know more about him.

Before he could crawl back into the bed, Sherlock swung his legs over the side, sitting on the edge. He tugged John closer, so he was right between his legs, and leaned in the kiss his chest. All thoughts fled his mind as the kisses went lower, a little amazed at how quickly he was getting aroused again. Normally it took twice as long as this.

He was half-hard when Sherlock took him into his mouth, sucking gently as he stroked long fingers over John's balls. He was soon fully hard, moaning as Sherlock stroked him, kissing and licking everywhere. He grabbed the lube, putting a little on his fingers, and rubbed it against his ass.

John's breath caught at that, from the cold, wet sensation, such a contrast from Sherlock's hot mouth pleasuring him elsewhere. He'd never done this during sex before.

After a moment, he shifted his legs a little wider, giving Sherlock nonverbal permission to do more. Distracting him with some amazing flicks of his tongue, John hardly noticed the long, lubed finger pushing into him. It wasn't until Sherlock was rubbing against his gland that John let out a low moan.

Sherlock had a devilish glint in his eye as he looked up, knowing his mouth and hands were driving John wild. Picking up the condom, Sherlock put it on John with his mouth.

Pushing him on to the bed, Sherlock crawled over him and was soon riding him. John could only lie back, enjoying the view, trying his hardest not to cum too soon.

Sherlock seemed lost in his own sexual haze, using John for his own pleasure, his eyes slitting as he rotated his hips in small circles. Riding John, using his strong legs to move over him so fast, before shifting into a slow grind that had John panting and arching off the bed. If this hadn't been the second round, he wouldn't have lasted more than a few minutes.

John eventually had to give in, his orgasm not as intense as the first, but still so, so good. He felt completely worn out, exhausted, even though Sherlock had been doing most of the work that time.

Sherlock let out a needy whine, and John opened his eyes, seeing him stroking fast over his lubed cock. Reaching down, John wrapped his hand over Sherlock's, stroking with him, until he pulled his own hand away. John followed the same pace, knowing that he was so close. "Yeah, baby...cum for me. I wanna see you... so beautiful..."

The words seemed to help, as Sherlock tensed up, and let out a low moan. John kept up his pace, watching avidly as semen splattered against his bare chest, only moving his hand away when Sherlock slumped to the side, shifting away from John.

He couldn't resist touching the fluid on his chest, playing with it. Sherlock passed him a facecloth, shaking his head. "You like that, I can tell."

John nodded, as he cleaned up. "So it would seem."

"Something to explore next month, maybe." Sherlock chuckled, stretching against the covers.

John bit his bottom lip, but then asked the question that had been on his mind all along. "Do we have to wait a month? Can I see you more often?"

"Your package only covers once a month." Sherlock replied, his tone neutral.

Now John was wishing the room was brighter, so he could read Sherlock's expressions better. "I'd be willing to pay."

Sherlock scoffed. "On your salary? You can barely afford rent."

Not bothering to ask how Sherlock knew that, John charged on. "Are you so booked up you couldn't make time for me?" It was a question John didn't allow himself to dwell on, knowing it would flare up his jealousy. He knew from the start that Sherlock was a sex worker, and needed enough clients to pay his bills.

Sighing, Sherlock shifted the pillows and leaned back against the headboard. "No. You are my only client."

"What!?" John sat upright, staring at Sherlock in surprise.

Shrugging one shoulder, Sherlock looked away. "I only accept one subscription a year. One man a year. Twelve sessions and then I never see him again."

"You are paid so well that's all you have to do?" John asked, a dozen questions zipping through his mind. How much had his friends paid for this package?

Reaching for his underwear, Sherlock slipped them on, and then his t-shirt. Standing up, he pulled the tight jeans back on, and shoved his feet into the boots. "That's enough questions. Do up my boots."

He pushed John flat on the bed, only the sheet covering him, and set his foot right on his chest. John found himself scrambling to obey, pulling the laces snug before he did a tight double knot. He repeated it with the other boot as well.

Sherlock nodded in satisfaction when he was done. He gave John a quick kiss. "See you next month." He was soon out the door, leaving John alone and naked in a bed that reeked of sex.

...

-A/N: John's learning a little more about Sherlock each chapter. Sherlock is also learning about John, pushing at his boundaries, trying things like being a little dominant with the boots to see what John responds to. Keeping things exciting and adventurous for him.

Don't worry, this fic won't be going too far down the D/S path


	7. June

Getting out of the tube station, John almost turned right out of habit to head home, before remembering he needed to stop at Tesco first for some groceries. He had been working a bunch of late shifts at the clinic, and had completely run out of everything. Luckily the store was open until 11.

The sun had just set, streetlights starting to come on, but it was a mild summer night. He was only wearing a light cardigan instead of a coat.

As he neared the store, he saw a familiar shape between two buildings. Sherlock. After all these months, he was used to watching for him when he was out, never knowing where he might show up. Always a bit aroused at the possibility.

Sherlock stepped out towards him, wearing dark jeans, a leather jacket and the same Doc Marten boots he had on last time. Sherlock must have seen the way John's eyes lingered on them, as he chuckled lightly and moved closer. He took John's hand.

Leading him behind the grocery store, there were only a few parking stalls for staff and large dumpsters. One was overflowing with flattened cardboard boxes. Dropping John's hand, Sherlock went over and took a box out of it. Walking a few feet away, he dropped it on the ground.

John followed him, looking around uneasily. There was no one around, but the store was still open. Staff could come back here at any time. But lust for this man compelled him to his side.

"Kneel." Sherlock said after a kiss that was much too short.

Understanding now why Sherlock had laid down the cardboard, John knelt, his trousers kept away from the wet, dirty cement.

"Undo my jeans. Touch me." Sherlock ordered next.

John was a strong, smart man, who would rarely take orders from anyone other than his commander in the army. But the tone, the boots, and the aloof way Sherlock was looking down at him were totally working for him.

He had thought about their last session so much the last few weeks. Sherlock had been more open and intimate than ever before. Being naked together, having time to touch and explore, getting to see and touch Sherlock's cock for the first time. It had been incredibly erotic.

Now, he held Sherlock again, stroking him, and spread his precum over the tip. Being watched as he pleasured him, loving his faster breathing, his small noises.

"Kiss it." Sherlock said, his tone firm.

John's heart pounded. He had thought about this so much. Could he do it? Would he like it? Would he be any good? Although nervous, he was too excited not to try.

John rubbed the tip of Sherlock's cock over his lips, making them wet with precum. He gave some small kisses before licking his lips. The taste of sex, Sherlock. It was linked, reminding him of the last time, and his arousal clicked up another notch.

Sherlock's hand went to the back of his neck, and he nudged against John's mouth, his need obvious. Opening up, John felt him slide along his tongue, thick and hard. "Lick and suck."

John welcomed the chance to explore Sherlock more, trying out a variety of things, using his mouth and hands. Eventually Sherlock was pushing back in to his mouth, moving deeper until John tensed, resisting the urge to gag. His strokes stayed shallow after that, watching John take his cock.

"Stroke me." Sherlock moaned, pulling out of his mouth.

Feeling a bit relieved, John used his hand on his spit-slick cock. He knew Sherlock was getting close, and didn't feel quite ready to have him cum in his mouth. Maybe it was just a bit too much, too soon, or maybe he had a small fear of choking.

Sherlock tipped his head back a little, his hand still on the back of John's neck, and grunted. It was the only warning he gave, before he was shooting. Shocked, John could only close his eyes, feeling it hit his cheek, his nose. Running down his face and dripping off.

He opened his eyes, glad that there was none near his eyes, at least. Sherlock was giving him a pleased smile.

"Open up." Sherlock said, nudging again against his lips.

Keeping his gaze locked on Sherlock, John took his half-hard cock back into his mouth, sucking it clean. He was still so aroused, he savoured the taste, and wanted more. Sherlock seemed to read this, rubbing his cock over his wet face and pushing it into his mouth a few times. "Good little cumslut." He let go of John's neck, stepping back and zipping up his jeans.

John stood up, his knees a little stiff from kneeling so long, and looked down at his shirt. There were cum stains all over it. He was sure his face was a mess as well.

"You were going to get some groceries, weren't you?" Sherlock chuckled, nudging John towards the store.

"Sod off." John shot back, but with no heat. He took off his cardigan, dropping it on to the cardboard, and undid his dress shirt. He rubbed it over his face, drying it off as well as he could. Then he put the cardigan back on, looking relatively normal with his undershirt below it.

He was still really hard, despite everything. "It's your turn now, right?" John asked a little cheekily, glancing down at the cardboard.

"Not this time. You'll have to take care of yourself." Sherlock smirked back, as if daring John.

Fuck it. It showed how much these past few months of semi-public sex had affected John. He unzipped his trousers, reaching in to stroke himself, giving a little groan in relief.

Sherlock seemed shocked for a second, but quickly recovered. "Show me. Let me see."

The words turned John on even more, and he pushed his clothing out of the way, leaning back against the brick wall. He was stroking with one hand, squeezing and tugging occasionally on his balls with the other, just wanting to cum more than anything. Having Sherlock watch just made it hotter.

Sherlock stepped back when he was getting near the edge. It would have served the berk right to have his clothes spotted with semen too. The dirty thought of cumming on Sherlock's face tipped John over.

A minute later, he picked up his dress shirt to clean up, and sent Sherlock a playful grin. He had taken the dare, and enjoyed it.

Backing him against the wall, Sherlock gave him a long, hard kiss. "You are getting just as bad as I am."

"Come back to my place. It's close to here." John kissed down his neck, just wanting more time with this man. "Not even to fool around, just to hang out. If you want."

Sherlock shook his head. "That's not a smart idea, John. But you have been very good tonight. You deserve a treat. I'll send you something in the mail soon with instructions."

"A treat?" John's interest was piqued.

"Yes. And you know how good I am at reading what you actually want. I know you'll like it." Sherlock gave him another kiss. "See you-"

"Next month. Yeah, I know." John pouted slightly, making Sherlock chuckle as he walked away.

Once a month was simply not enough anymore. Not by a long shot.

...

-A/N: Things getting more intense between them...


	8. July

John said goodnight to his last patient and told the nurse he would lock up. He was soon grabbing his messenger bag, and heading for the staff washroom.

The 'treat' came the first week of July with very specific instructions. A set of butt plugs, and a big bottle of expensive lube. He was to start with the smallest, and work up to the biggest, wearing them a couple hours at a time.

Another note came mid month, asking that he put in the biggest plug before he left the office after working night shifts. Wearing it home, and while doing his errands.

This was the fourth time he had worn a butt plug home from the office, watching for Sherlock every step of the way, filled with a mix of arousal, anticipation and dread. Was he really ready for this next step?

The last three times, he had gotten home, and mostly felt regret that Sherlock hadn't shown up. He had masturbated hard, feeling how different it was with the toy still inside, his orgasms more intense than usual on his own.

He hadn't eaten supper, so decided to stop for some take away when he got off the tube. The Thai restaurant was about half full, and the server waved to him in acknowledgement as she rushed past with a tray of food. He had been there often enough they knew he came alone for take away, not to dine there.

"Cashew Chicken or Red Curry?" A man standing nearby asked, reading a menu. He lowered it, grinning at John's shock at finding him there.

"How did you know I'd be in here tonight?" John didn't know if he wanted to punch him or kiss him. Somehow, he often felt like that around this incredible but infuriating man.

Sherlock just grinned, stepping closer. "Come with me." He was dressed simply tonight, in a white dress shirt and dark grey trousers, both perfectly tailored to his slim frame.

The whisper, his cologne, the warmth of his body pressing against John's had him nodding, walking together down the hallway to the washrooms. There were two small rooms off the hallway, and Sherlock steered them into the second one, locking the door behind them.

His kisses were hard and urgent; showing his need for John was just as strong. His hands went down to his ass, giving it a squeeze. "Are you wearing it?" His whisper near John's ear was followed by some light nips to the skin there.

"Yes." John said softly, incredibly turned on.

"And you know what it's for, right?" Sherlock asked, pulling back to look John in the eye.

John took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. "To prep me for you to fuck me."

"Do you want that? Are you ready?" Sherlock asked, his hand going down to the front of John's trousers. "Hmmm...you feel quite ready here."

The light touch had John bucking into it. It was scary, but he trusted Sherlock. Knew he'd be gentle and stop if it was too much. He was a very attentive man, reading John so well. He wanted to try it, was really turned on by the idea. He nodded at Sherlock.

Sherlock soon had their trousers off, and squatted to pull down John's briefs. He admired the butt plug, wiggling it a little to see John jump and let out a moan. He pulled it out, putting it into the sink, and pushing lubed fingers into John to finish prepping him.

It felt like the other time Sherlock had done that, and John relaxed a little. It was even better when Sherlock shifted to give him some oral as his fingers played with his prostate. At some point, he added another finger, and John was aroused enough he adjusted to it quickly.

"I'm ready, please, Sherlock..." Waiting any longer would be pure torture. He was still a little nervous, but horny enough to go forward.

Sherlock moved him into a position similar to the prostate exam one. Feet shoulder-width apart, bent over at the waist, supporting himself on the washroom counter. Hearing the crinkle of the condom wrapper, and then Sherlock pushing in slowly, giving John time to adjust.

"Are you OK?" Sherlock said, bending over him, kissing his neck. His breathing was fast, obviously very excited by this.

Hearing that, John relaxed a bit more, and the discomfort lessened. He felt incredibly full, stretched, but knowing it was Sherlock's hard cock finally inside him sent a thrill right through him. He had fantasized about doing this for months. "Yeah. Try moving."

Slow strokes built gradually in tempo, John gasping each time Sherlock rubbed along his prostate. A lubed hand wrapped around his cock, and he started moving with the thrusts, fucking Sherlock's fist. He got close, and Sherlock stayed in deep, stroking John just the way he loved it. "That's it, yes...cum with my cock in your tight ass."

John groaned, shaking and his knees almost giving out as he orgasmed. Sherlock started some hard, quick thrusts in the middle of it, right against his prostate each time, or so it felt, groaning as he reached his peak too. He barely managed to remain standing.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck..." John moaned, as Sherlock pulled out and tidied him up. Pretty soon, they were dressed and looking presentable. John still felt a bit unstable, and Sherlock had an arm tight around his waist as they went back down the hall.

"Can we get a table for two?" Sherlock said when the server sent them a suspicious glance. He gave her an innocent smile back, until she led them to a secluded corner table and left them with jasmine tea and menus. It was a round booth, and John was able to curl against Sherlock as he perused the menu.

Giving John a light kiss, Sherlock tapped the menu. "Seriously though, cashew chicken or red curry?"

Pretty soon, they had a table full of tasty food. John felt more himself after eating, realizing he had probably missed lunch when it had been busy. Sherlock was chatty, keeping him laughing.

"So, you said this is just a side job for you. What's your main job?" John dared to ask, delving into more personal territory.

"I'm a consulting detective." Sherlock said, taking a sip of tea.

John nodded. "Ah, so no wonder you have figured me out so well. It's your day job."

Scoffing, Sherlock gave him a half-grin. "Day job, night job, weekends, major holidays..."

"I suppose so. Crime happens all the time, doesn't it." John ate the last prawn. "Whom do you 'consult' with?"

"Scotland Yard, mostly. Whenever they get stuck on a case, which is always, they give me a call." He said with an aloof tone.

John arched an eyebrow at Sherlock. "Um...doesn't working for the cops conflict with your other job?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes a little. "Well, they have no idea about my other job, for one, and prostitution isn't actually illegal in the UK."

"Why is it always in the news then?" John asked. Sometimes there were things that had changed while he was away all those years.

"Basically, English people don't want to see signs of other people having sex. Don't want to see brothels, street walkers, men cruising slowly down the streets. You can do whatever you want, as long as it's basically invisible." Sherlock smirked.

John smirked back, thinking about all the places they had fooled around, almost getting caught at any minute. "Well, as exciting as it's been with you these past months, can we stick to beds most of the time going forward? I almost fell over in that washroom."

"Boring." Sherlock huffed, but softened it with another kiss. He was surprisingly cuddly tonight.

"Why do you do this, Sherlock? This work?" John asked. Maybe he was in a good enough mood to actually give a straight answer.

Sighing, Sherlock toyed with his napkin, folding it back and forth. "I basically told you already. My main job is days, nights, weekends..."

"Yes, and...?"

Looking a bit frustrated, Sherlock sent him a glare. "Well, it makes it a little hard to maintain a relationship with such an irregular schedule. But I still have needs..."

John's eyes widened. "So, you get to have sex once a month with no strings?"

"Exactly. I can always find a few hours each month for a tryst." Sherlock waved to the server, making the signal for the bill.

It was unusual, but John could see his logic behind that. "And a different man each year?"

Sherlock put some cash on the bill when it came, leaving a generous tip. He turned to John, his eyes intent. "It's to avoid romantic entanglements. The longer I see someone, the more expectations are there. Knowing from the start that it's only for a year stops that."

John nodded, getting out of the booth, his good mood deflated. "I understand." No matter how good the sex was, no matter how well they got along, or how much fun they had, it was over in December. He would see Sherlock five more times, and that would be it. Sherlock wasn't looking for anything except sex.

Sherlock shot him a concerned look. "Are you OK getting home? Do you want me to call you a cab?"

John stepped away from him as soon as they were outside the restaurant, just needing his space. "I'm fine, Sherlock. A little sore, but I'm sure that's normal after butt fucking."

Sherlock stepped closer, giving him a long kiss. "See you next month?"

Nodding, John pulled away and turned to go home. Not meeting Sherlock's eyes, not wanting to show his mixed up emotions.

It was confusing. Great sex, feeling so attracted to this man physically but also to his quick mind and humor. Being so physically intimate, so vulnerable. Wanting more, but knowing it was futile to allow himself to feel more for this man when it could go nowhere.

Sherlock watched him until he turned the corner and was out of sight. Shoving his hands into his pockets, he turned with a sigh to walk home alone.

...

-A/N: Angst! Hello darkness, my old friend...


	9. August

The speeches were over, the wedding cake sliced, and the first dance done. John looked around the room as he sipped his wine. He really should have brought a date to this. It would have made everything a little easier.

Mike was off dancing with his wife, the only people he knew well beside the groom, an old friend from their med school days.

"So, you live in London?" An older woman to his right asked, trying to start a conversation.

John nodded, giving her a stiff grin. He really wasn't in the mood for polite chitchat.

She leaned towards him. "Isn't it rather expensive? Even a tiny flat-"

"Yes. I just have a bedsit. I'm on my own so I don't need much." John cut her off. "Excuse me." He nodded her way as he got up, and gave Mike a small wave before he slipped out of the room. It was a little early to leave, but he'd had enough.

It was lightly drizzling, but John didn't have far to walk to get to his inn. It was too early to head up to his room, so he went to the pub. Perhaps he was a little overdressed in his suit, but he would manage.

The pub was a welcoming space with light coloured stone walls. He took an armchair near the hearth, ordering a whiskey when the server came by. It was comforting, staring into the crackling fire and sipping his drink.

Sometimes, it was good to get away. This weekend was only a few hours from London, but felt so different. A quiet medieval village, surrounded by rolling hills full of sheep. It was like stepping back in time. He could feel his inner tension and stress unwinding.

Being at a wedding on his own made him consider things though. A man his age marrying for the first time. Being around Mike, and his wife for a decade. And John, still alone.

At times like this, he missed his army friends so much. One friend, Andy, had always been there for John, letting him talk about the women he dated, his relationship problems. What would he have thought about Sherlock? John chuckled to himself at the idea of discussing the strange situation.

How could he even describe Sherlock to someone else? Gorgeous, for sure. Intensely sexual. Obviously smart, from the way he kept tracking John down, but must also be in his other work. At times funny, flirty or teasing. John could also sense he was a loner, who liked following his own schedule, his own interests. Not a man who worried much about conforming to societal noms. Who else would become a part time whore just for no-strings sex?

John just shook his head, clearing his mind. As much as he enjoyed his time with Sherlock, there was no potential for more than casual, mind-blowing sex with him. Five more times, and the man would apparently disappear from his life.

Strange to think of never seeing him again, when the man had been so often on his mind. He seemed to haunt John as he went through his day, memories popping up when he was on the tube, at work, or getting groceries. Whenever he was out, part of his attention was always on watch for the man. After all these months, it had almost become second nature to him.

Sipping his whiskey, John realized being out of London was a good opportunity for a reality check. To see his life from a different perspective, away from work and Sherlock. Seeing now how much he had been caught up in him. He wanted to be like Mike and his newly married friend, in a healthy, stable long-term relationship. Sherlock could never give him that.

Perhaps the subscription had been just the gift he had needed. Get him feeling alive, confident enough to date and put himself 'out there' again. A reminder how exciting it was to meet someone new and feel that chemistry, just wanting to get to know them better and see where it could go. He could always try dating a few people, test the waters, and if anything started to develop, call things off with Sherlock. It wouldn't be right to keep hooking up with him if he was getting intimate with someone else.

Would he be open to dating men as well? Was he bisexual now? Was he attracted to other men besides Sherlock?

Looking away from the fire, he let his eyes review the other people there. A group of attractive women, likely in their twenties, one of them returning his gaze with interest after looking over his suit. Likely thinking of him as an older man who could be her ticket out of this town. He moved on. He wanted a partner who had more than just a pretty face.

A group of elderly men, obviously old friends. John moved on fast. He wanted someone closer to his own age.

Two women chatting and laughing together. Likely around forty, but still attractive. He felt no particular pull towards either of them.

Three men at the bar, watching the game with a few pints. His age, but one overweight and another with an irritating laugh. The third one was more attractive, with salt and pepper hair, and a relaxed expression as he chuckled with his friends.

Funny that out of a whole room, he was only slightly attracted to a man.

He heard the bell over the entrance jangle, and turned to glance that way, freezing at who he saw there. Sherlock? Here? One thing that had felt different leaving London was letting go of his constant watchfulness for the man.

With a smirk, Sherlock sunk into the other armchair by the fire. "Good evening, John." He acted nonchalant, like it was prearranged that they were to meet here. He was wearing a tailored black suit with a teal dress shirt, looking like a male model. Completely at ease in his clothes.

"Just a normal Saturday night in Wales, is it?" John asked, giving the berk a questioning stare. It felt so jarring, seeing the man here.

Instead of answering, Sherlock waved to a server. "Is the kitchen still open? I'd like a hot meal if possible."

"The restaurant is closed, but we can serve you in here or with room service." She said, looking a little frazzled.

Sherlock nodded. "I'll order from room service."

Once the server had left, Sherlock waved towards John's drink. "Finish that up. I'd like a proper meal before the kitchen closes."

"No need to wait for me. You go on ahead." John said, taking a small sip.

With a huff, Sherlock looked at him like he was an idiot. "But you want a meal as well."

"Do I?"

"Of course. You hardly ate any of the rubber chicken at the reception. When is wedding food ever good?"

John gave a half-laugh at that. The man was astute. "Fine." He finished the drink and paid the server.

It was a small inn, and John climbed the stairs with Sherlock. At his door, he fumbled with the key, bemused that Sherlock was still standing with him.

"And your room?" John asked as he opened the door.

Sherlock sailed through. "You want to eat alone in your room while I eat alone in mine? Think before you speak, John." He had already found the menu, flipping through the pages. "Salmon or lamb?"

...

An hour later, they had finished their meals, and shared a bottle of a wonderful Pinot Grigio. John was feeling mellow, from the wine and good company. As frustrating as Sherlock could be at times, there was no denying he was smart, funny and attractive.

That thought popping into his head made John sit up straighter. He really should just stick to sex with Sherlock. Eating meals, hanging out with him, would only made John want more. It would end up in John getting hurt if he didn't watch himself. Limit his time with the man. Focus his romantic interests on finding someone else.

"Well, it's getting late, Sherlock. Surely you need a good night's rest so you can be up early to take care of whatever mysterious business brought you here." He stood up, stretching, and carried the tray of their dishes out to the hallway for the staff to collect. He left the door open, standing near it, looking at Sherlock expectantly.

He slowly stood, and walked to John. "A goodnight kiss before I go?"

All his thoughts of distancing himself from Sherlock faded as he took in this tempting man before him. John couldn't resist tipping his face up towards him, expecting a hard, deep kiss. Knowing the sexual tension simmering between them all night didn't need much to burst into flame. Wanted it, welcomed it.

But instead Sherlock cupped his head, kissing him firmly, taking his time. After a minute, his arms went around John, holding him close as the kiss went on. Finally, they pulled back to catch their breath, and Sherlock reached over to close and lock the door.

...

John woke, taking a moment to remember he was in the hotel room in Wales. The wedding, the dull reception, Sherlock. The man still sleeping beside him.

That part was the most shocking of all. The man showing up in the pub, pushing John to eat together, lingering, that goodnight kiss so different than all the ones they had shared before. Undressing, getting into bed together, slow sex, knowing they had all night. It felt natural to curl up together afterwards, not even surprised that Sherlock made no attempt to leave.

For John, it felt like more than just sex. Despite all his warnings to himself to keep his feelings in check around this man, he had indulged himself in the fantasy, holding nothing back. He had been a bit lonely, needy, and Sherlock had been there.

But why was Sherlock here? Why was he dressed so nice, and acting so charming? So irresistible? He said he avoided romantic entanglements and then he shows up in this ancient inn, finagling his way into John's room, John's bed. Acting like a lover, not just a hook-up.

He thought about it, and a couple possibilities came to mind. John had requested that the rest of their sessions took place in beds, so maybe this was Sherlock's interpretation of that request. Still surprising John, still making it exciting and different. Then again, maybe Sherlock was reading him again, acting the way he thought would work best for John. Acting like a sexy street walker one month, a charming wedding date the next. John should just play along. Enjoy him.

He rolled over, finding Sherlock on his back, looking at the ceiling. "Good morning, Sherlock."

"Morning. Um, I should go back to my room, leave you in piece." Sherlock shifted towards the edge of the bed. He wasn't meeting John's eyes, looking a little awkward, his motions lacking his normal grace.

John stopped him with a light hand on his shoulder. "You don't have a room. You only have one reason for being here, me." There was no point being awkward or making a big deal out of the situation. They were both mature adults. Might as well enjoy their time together. No strings.

"I...um...what..." Sherlock blinked a few times, clearly not coming up with a different explanation.

Leaning in, John gave him a kiss before swinging out of bed. "I need a long, hot shower and a big breakfast, before that long train ride home. Are you going to join me?"

Sherlock sat up, looking adorable with his messy bedhead. "In what? The shower, breakfast, or the train ride?" Was it just that he was sleepy, not a morning person, that he seemed so befuddled? He looked younger in the morning light, blinking his light green eyes slowly.

"All three, of course." John said as he went to the bathroom and started the shower. As he was working the shampoo into his hair, the shower curtain moved aside as Sherlock stepped in.

...

"John, wake up." Sherlock said softly, his voice pulling him out of his light nap.

Blinking a few times, John sat up, seeing they were entering London. "Oh, thanks. Sorry for falling asleep on you. I haven't been the best company, have I?"

Sherlock gave his hand a squeeze. "It's OK. I kept you up rather late last night."

John was looking down at their joined hands. Had they been holding hands the whole train ride? "Um...yes, that's true."

His mind went back to it, kissing, touching, being naked together. Going down on Sherlock, feeling proud at taking him deeper than last time, and being eager to make him cum that way. Riding Sherlock, loving the control and being able to try different motions to see what felt best. Watching Sherlock's responses, loving seeing how affected he was by John's actions. It had been so intimate, so good.

At Paddington Station, John carried out his suitcase, noticing Sherlock only had small messenger bag with him, and he was wearing the same clothes as yesterday. He had used John's toiletries earlier, and when he leaned in to give him a quick hug, he noticed that his scent seemed blended with John's.

"See you next month, Sherlock." John said, giving him a sincere smile as he gathered up his case and suitbag. No matter what the future held, he had real affection for the man.

It wasn't until he had gone about a dozen steps that he realized Sherlock hadn't replied to that. He stopped, turning around to look for the man, but he was swallowed up by a crowd.

...

-A/N: Confusion on all sides...

-Inn: I based the Inn on the real one used in "The Hounds of Baskerville". The Bush Inn in St Hilary, Wales, doubled as the Cross Keys pub in Dartmoor. It is a 3.5 hour train ride west of London. From their website: "Built in the 16th Century, The Bush Inn still recalls the ambience of those days in its old world bars with bare stone walls, flag stone floors, original oak beams, huge inglenook fireplace and stone spiral staircase to the side of the fireplace. In these bars, locals and visitors alike have enjoyed traditional ale and good companionship for more than five hundred years!"


	10. September

John was in a horrible mood. The mild summer weather seemed to have ended as soon as everyone flipped their calendars to September. It had been cold, with record amounts of rain.

Perhaps that was why he hadn't seen Sherlock all month. But a man who tracked him down 250 km away from London should be able to figure something out. It was September 29th, so there wasn't much time left.

It was frustrating, not even knowing enough to track Sherlock down to see what was happening. He didn't even have his phone number. What if he had been injured? His work with Scotland Yard likely involved being around criminals. He hadn't seen anything in the papers, but it might not have been reported on. John had even looked for Sherlock's file at the clinic, but it had somehow gone missing.

He was likely just sick of being cooped up indoors too much, staring at the walls of his tiny bedsit, hating it more and more. A glance out of the window showed a break in the constant rain, and John pulled on some warm clothes, taking his umbrella just in case. Some fresh air, a change of scene.

If he was honest with himself, he missed Sherlock. There had been no packages or notes in the mail, no spotting him in a crowd. Had the night in the hotel been too much for him? Too intimate? Had John pushed things too far, practically insisting they spend the morning together, when Sherlock was trying to leave? And that funny goodbye at the station, when Sherlock hadn't said anything.

He walked slowly around the nearby park, nodding to a few neighbors he recognized. Mostly lost in his own thoughts, he almost passed right by Sherlock, but some sense was just attuned to him by now. He was sitting on a park bench, hardly recognizable in a thick turtleneck sweater, baggy corduroy trousers, and a brown newsboy cap.

"Sherlock! Hey, it's good to see you." John smiled broadly and dropped onto the bench beside him.

Sherlock flicked a glance his way, and mumbled hello. He had his arms crossed over his chest, and John wondered how long he had been sitting there.

John also wondered if he should leave him alone, as he clearly wasn't welcoming his company right now. But John had missed him, and couldn't bear to go just yet. He simply sat beside him, looking around the park. Some of his bad mood was lifting, and he realized it was because of this man.

He thought of the train ride, and how they had been holding hands. Such a nice thing somehow. A quiet connection. Reaching out, he took hold Sherlock's hand.

"Sherlock! Your hand is so cold! How long have you been out here?" John took his hand between both of his, trying to warm it.

His exclamation seemed to rouse Sherlock slightly. "Hmmm? Oh, I've been here a while, I suppose." His tone was dismissive.

With a huff, John stood and yanked hard on Sherlock's hand to get him up too. "You are going to have some tea and warm up." He wrapped an arm around Sherlock's waist, urging him along.

His expression showed he was a bit irritated by John's pushiness, but he resigned himself to go along.

John's bedsit was close by, so he just took Sherlock there, and soon had the kettle on. "Sit down. Things will be ready in a minute."

He'd never had company here before, since it was so tiny and he was a little embarrassed by it. His hands fumbled a little, putting some biscuits on a plate and getting everything on to a tray.

By the time the tea was ready, he had settled down. He brought the tray over to the sofa, glad Sherlock had his shoes off and was sitting on one end. He took the other, and poured out the tea, leaving Sherlock to add what he wanted to it. Funny, knowing him for months and not knowing how he took it.

Sherlock added milk to his, and took a sip. He seemed a little awkward and quiet still, so different than the vivacious man John usually was with.

"So, are you working on a case currently? Working through it all, piecing it together?" John asked, sipping his tea. That would account for Sherlock's distant mood.

"No." Sherlock said, without further elaboration. He was looking around the bedsit, his sharp eyes probably seeing more than John wanted him to. "How long have you lived here?"

Looking down at the tray, John picked up a biscuit. "Since I came back to England."

"Right. From Afghanistan. Shoulder. Limp. Therapy." Sherlock mused, almost to himself. "Are you still bothered by nightmares?"

John stared at the man, his mind whirling. Had his friends put all that on the website? His profile? 'Our friend needs a year of sex because...'. But he hadn't told anyone but his therapist about the nightmares.

He thought about Sherlock's question. "Actually, I haven't had one in months."

"And the cane? Do you still use it?" Sherlock's eyes were resting on it, leaning against the wall.

John felt embarrassed all over again. "Not for months either."

Sherlock nodded, his eyes flicking to John's quickly. "Perhaps you were just in a transitional phase, getting over your injury and adapting to living back here again. You seem in a better way now."

His words sunk in, and John shifted on the sofa, relaxing into it. He was much happier than he had been before, handling work well, physically not as tired with his daily routines. He didn't think about the army days as much anymore, when he used to sit in here and dwell on things. He hadn't blogged for ages. "Yes, perhaps I am."

"Have you thought about moving?" Sherlock asked.

John chuckled. "Everyday since I moved in. It's adequate, but barely. Places are just too pricey in London and I'm not interested in living elsewhere."

"Perhaps a flatshare?"

Pouring them more tea, John shrugged a shoulder. "I'd prefer it to be with a man around my age, and that is hard to find too. Perhaps I'm too picky."

"I suppose I'm the same. My place is a bit of a mess, and my hobbies take up a lot of space. Few would want to live with me." Sherlock seemed to be relaxing as well.

They chatted on, and eventually John ordered some Chinese food and they continued to talk over the meal. Sherlock was funny, talking about his cases and painting half of the police force as bumbling idiots.

At some point, John had cleared away the supper things and sat down on the sofa a little closer to Sherlock. He had put a throw over both of them, happily listening to Sherlock talking.

Eventually, John glanced at the clock, and was surprised how late it was. He sat up straighter. "This has been fun, Sherlock, just being able to talk together and-"

His words were cut off by Sherlock kissing him. But it all felt a bit off. The angle was wrong, and Sherlock was rubbing his hand up and down John's back awkwardly.

John pulled away. "Um, that was nice, but would it be OK if we don't do anything tonight? I've got an early shift tomorrow..."

It felt so strange, turning down Sherlock, hoping he didn't hurt his feelings.

"Oh! Um, of course. It's just it's almost the end of September and I have plans tomorrow night and-"

Sherlock's rushed, fumbling words made John set his hand comfortingly on his shoulder. "It's OK, Sherlock. We've had double sessions other times, so it's not like you should feel like you 'owe' me sex. Plus, we're friends now, right? I don't want to have sex with you unless we both want it."

Looking relieved, Sherlock stood up. "Are you sure?"

John chuckled, trying to lighten things up, and show there were no hard feelings. "I was worried when I didn't see you for so long though. I was worried that you had been hurt. Would it ruin your image of the 'sexy stranger' if we exchanged phone numbers?"

Sherlock seemed touched by the question. "Um, no. That would be alright."

A minute later, they were tucking their phones back into their pockets. John walked over to the door. He didn't want to seem rude, encouraging Sherlock to go, but he was feeling tired.

Luckily Sherlock took the hint. He put his shoes on, and rose to stand in front of John. "I guess this is goodnight then." He cupped his head, giving John a long, soft kiss. It almost had John wanting to tug him back to the sofa, cuddling under the blanket as they shared more kisses just like that.

"Goodnight, Sherlock." John said when he pulled back.

Nodding, Sherlock opened the door, and stepped out into the hallway. "See you next month."

"So, in a couple days then?" John joked, watching the berk walking down the hall.

…

-A/N: Thanks again for everyone who is reading this story.


	11. October

"Great costume!" A guy dressed like a firefighter commented with a grin. "Make my day." He said the words with a deeper, gravelly voice, but it wasn't a very good impression.

John smiled anyways. At least the guy had recognized that he was dressed as a Clint Eastwood character, not just a generic cowboy. Even if the quote came from another movie of his.

He wasn't really into fancy dress parties usually, but an American nurse working at the clinic was hosting this Halloween party with her flat mates. It was a fun mix of people of all ages, many from the clinic, and everyone was wearing some type of costume.

John was having a good time, indulging in a few drinks and dancing with friends from work. His costume was comfortable and he felt good in it. Black jeans, a rumpled button-up shirt with fine blue stripes, a gun belt worn low on his hips. The cowboy hat and poncho he had found online, both dark brown. More than one woman had sent an interested look his way.

It had been a better month, with nicer fall weather, and John had been busy with work and friends. He hadn't seen Sherlock at all, but the texts had been coming, almost daily. Often a whole bunch in a row. Often related to his case.

 **How long does it take for contusions to show greenish coloration? -SH**

John had chuckled at the question, and answered quickly.

 **Usually in about seven days. Break down and reabsorption of the hemoglobin. -JW**

 **Interesting. -SH**

And then he wouldn't get anything for a day or two. No, ' Hi, how are you' texts or anything normal like that. But John had never expected Sherlock to be normal. He liked him just as he was.

A young woman, obviously intoxicated, bumped against him. She was dressed like Katy Perry, with an electric blue wig, lots of glittery makeup, and a tight short dress. "Oh, you look good. Who are you dressed as?"

"The Man With No Name." John tipped his hat to her, and moved along. Polite but not into chatting her up.

He got another drink, leaning against a pillar as he watched people dancing. Sarah was with Brian, dressed as Sheldon and Amy from The Big Bang Theory, and they seemed to be getting along well still. The fact they had planned their costumes together demonstrated that.

"Hey, amigo! You know you got a face beautiful enough to be worth $2000?"

A rough whisper came from behind him, and John turned with a wide smile. "Sherlock!" He leaned in, giving him a big kiss.

Momentarily stunned, Sherlock returned the kiss just as eagerly. It might have gone on a little too long though for mixed company. Someone walking past mumbled 'Get a room.'

John pulled back, chuckling, and looked over Sherlock's costume. "A pirate! Really?" It was well put together, and Sherlock looked incredible in it. Tight black jeans tucked into black boots, a long 18th century style vest over a white shirt with loose sleeves. A wide belt was low on his hips, with a fake sword. A burgundy scarf covered much of his hair, and he had a bit of stubble. His eyes looked good, with dark eyeliner smudged around them.

"What's wrong with it? I've always liked pirates." Sherlock looked down, seeming a bit deflated.

John tilted his face up for another enthusiastic kiss. "You look fantastic. I'm just a bit surprised to see you here."

That brought Sherlock's grin back, looking so handsome he practically took John's breath away. "I like your costume too. You look like quite the badass."

"Thanks. I'm impressed you knew a quote from the movie. Most people just think I'm a cowboy." John lifted his unlit cigarillo to one side of his mouth, and scrunched up his eyes a little. Doing his best to look like his character. "That line was spoken to Tuco though."

"Your character is known for not talking much. He doesn't really have many quotable lines." Sherlock said in defense.

John disagreed. "The line after the $2000 one is, 'Yeah, but you don't look like the one who'll collect it.' And then he shoots three bounty hunters. That was a pretty good one."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Fine. Do you really want to talk about a fifty year old spaghetti western all night?"

Grinning, John shook his head. "Maybe another time. Let's dance instead." He grabbed his arm, yanking him towards that side of the room.

"Do we have to?" Sherlock grumbled, but followed along willingly enough. He had some good moves too, dancing close enough to John that they bumped into each other sometimes.

Sarah noticed them, and gave John an approving look. She didn't seem to recognize Sherlock as the woman from that work function, months ago. It was funny, feeling totally unselfconscious about dancing with a man, even though people he knew saw him. He was determined to just be whoever he was, like whoever he liked, and if someone didn't like it, that was their problem, not his.

A few songs later, they were thirsty and got cold drinks. John was feeling good, and moved closer to Sherlock. "I think we should take that suggestion we were given earlier."

Sherlock seemed confused. "What suggestion?"

"That we get a room." John smirked, grabbing Sherlock's hand and tugging him towards the bedrooms. They found an empty one, and John soon had Sherlock pushed up against the closed door, kissing him hard.

Sherlock was just as eager, yanking off John's hat and poncho. He pulled John closer, slotting a leg between his, and initiating a slow grind that soon had them both breathless.

"Fuck it." John said, and dropped to his knees, working on the zip on Sherlock's jeans. Moments later, he was taking him deep, loving the way Sherlock's hand went into his short hair, tugging on it. It was fast and dirty, knowing they could get interrupted at any time. He didn't move away when Sherlock reached his peak with a groan, looking up at him as he took it all.

He stood with wobbly legs, and gave Sherlock a hungry kiss. "Let's go somewhere with a big beautiful bed. I just want to lay you out and fuck you all night." He pressed his erection against Sherlock's hip, too aroused to be subtle.

Sherlock liked it, his eyes glowing as he collected their things from the floor. "My place is closer."

"Perfect. Let's go." John rushed him out the door, waving to the American nurse from work as they left. "Great party, Kelsey!"

...

"I could really use some coffee." John said, when Sherlock took a break from kissing him.

Sherlock looked a little put out by that. "You'd rather drink coffee than kiss me?"

John smirked back, loving teasing the man. "Does it have to be either/or? Couldn't we have coffee and then continue this for the rest of the morning?"

"I guess." Sherlock conceded, rolling on to his back with a sigh.

Giving him a poke in the side, John sat up against the headboard. "I didn't get a good look around your place last night, but do you have coffee making equipment buried in that mess?"

Sherlock shook his head. "No, but the place downstairs does a decent cup. How do you take it?"

"White, no sugar. Thanks, sweetie." John grinned as Sherlock rolled out of bed and searched the floor for his clothes.

He yanked on the tight jeans. "Don't call me sweetie." He pulled the loose white shirt over it, and ran his hands through his hair.

John looked him over, messy hair and wrinkled clothes, smeared eyeliner, bite mark on his long neck. "You look like a well-ravished pirate."

Chuckling, Sherlock leaned down to give him a kiss. "That's exactly what I am. Extremely well-ravished."

"Well, hurry back with the coffees and I'll do it again, gum drop." John patted Sherlock's backside as he turned to go.

"Don't call me 'gum drop'." Sherlock grumbled from the living room, and then John heard the door slamming.

Closing his eyes and stretching, John felt really good. He tottered over to the bathroom, freshening up a little. In the mirror, he admired his own collection of bite marks.

The bathroom and bedroom looked pretty normal, but the kitchen and living room were just as bad as Sherlock had mentioned before. They looked like a cross between a chemistry lab and a college professor's overstuffed office. Dusty books and papers were piled everywhere. Glass beakers, a large microscope, and bottles of strange compounds covered the kitchen surfaces.

Shaking his head, John got back into the bed, propping the pillows up behind him. It was the second time they had slept together, and it felt right, good. He had been a bit worried from the September meeting; worried that whatever they had was falling apart. Fearing that Sherlock wasn't feeling as attracted or interested sexually in him anymore. It happened. Lust usually faded after being with someone a while. Last night, their chemistry had been as strong as ever, so John felt much better now.

This morning hadn't been as awkward as that morning at the hotel. Sherlock had woken him with kisses against his nape, slow, sweet, sexy kisses. John had rolled over, and the kisses had continued.

The door slammed shut again, and Sherlock walked in with the coffees. It must have been raining out, because his hair was a bit damp. He shook it at John, cold droplets hitting his bare skin, as he climbed under the covers. "I really should get a butler or someone like that. Leaving a warm bed to fetch coffee is so pedestrian."

"I get the feeling you come from a rather posh upbringing." John said, savoring his coffee. "Your accent says boarding school, your clothing is bespoke, and you can afford to live here on your own, while bemoaning that you don't have servants."

"Not bad deductions." Sherlock gave him an approving glance. He told John a little about his family, getting him chuckling with impressions of his older brother.

"Are you already done your coffee?" Sherlock said, when John set his empty cup on the nightstand.

John shrugged, snuggling back under the covers. "I like coffee."

Sherlock put his cup by John's, and cuddled against him. "And I like you."

The words were good to hear. He was always half-afraid Sherlock was just playing his role really well, being charming, flirty and attentive. He gave him a kiss, liking the taste of coffee on his lips.

Things heated up from there, John dragging the pirate shirt back off him to kiss all over his chest. He looked up at Sherlock from that position. "You realize its November 1st today. If we have sex now, you won't have to find a way to ambush me later in the month."

"Am I restricted? Only one ambush permitted each month?" Sherlock teased back, but John could tell the real question that was beneath it.

John rolled them both over, so Sherlock was on top of him, lying between his legs. Reaching down, he cupped his ass in those amazing jeans, grinding upwards shamelessly. "You are very welcome to ambush me as often as you like, Sherlock. And keep the text messages coming too. I love them."

That answer got an energetic response, with John not leaving the flat until a few hours later. "See you next month." He called out, as he headed down the stairs.

"If not sooner..." Sherlock said softly, leaning against his doorway.

...

-A/N: Things are much stronger between them this month, both feeling more connected & just enjoying each other...

-Spaghetti Westerns: Westerns have been filmed since the silent movie era, and gained popularity when stars like John Wayne emerged, peaking in the 1950s.  
The American frontier became a popular film subject again after 1960, often filmed in Spain with Italian directors, hence the nickname 'Spaghetti Westerns'. Wikipedia: "Over six hundred European Westerns were made between 1960 and 1978. The best-known Spaghetti Westerns were directed by Sergio Leone and scored by Ennio Morricone, notably the three films of the Dollars Trilogy (starring Clint Eastwood as the main character)—A Fistful of Dollars (1964), For a Few Dollars More (1965) and The Good, the Bad and the Ugly (1966)—as well as Once Upon a Time in the West (1968, starring Charles Bronson). These are consistently listed among the best Westerns of any variety."

-The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly (1966): On IMDB, this film is #9 out of the top 250 highest ranked movies on the website. It is one of my favourites, with its amazing story, cinematography, Morricone's score and Leone's fantastic film-making style includes juxtaposing extreme close-up shots with lengthy long shots. Starring Clint Eastwood as 'The Man With No Name', his career was launched by the trilogy of these gritty films, with his 'Dirty Harry' cop films ('Go ahead, make my day') coming out a few years later. Plot: "A bounty hunting scam joins two men in an uneasy alliance against a third in a race to find a fortune in gold buried in a remote cemetery." (IMDB).


	12. November

Standing straight in his olive green dress uniform, John faced the tall cenotaph, trying to keep it together as the bugles played. On the final note of 'The Last Post', a tear escaped his eye and ran down his cheek.

As the ceremony carried on, with royalty, politicians and dignitaries laying wreaths on the base of the cenotaph, it all became a blur. He was jarred out of it when everything was over and the crowd was dispersing.

"We are heading to a pub for a drink. Do you want to come?", another man in uniform asked John. The brotherhood of soldiers.

Shaking his head, John fumbled for an excuse. "No, thanks, I...um..."

Patting his upper arm, the soldier gave him an understanding glance. "We'll be at the Old Shades if you change your mind later."

John walked slowly towards the tube station, finding it hard to focus on anything. His mind was a whirling mess of memories, emotions, and confusion. On autopilot, he somehow got on to the correct train, and found a seat.

At his station, he felt even more exhausted, climbing the stairs. It seemed wrong that it was such a sunny November day when he emerged on to the street. He felt blinded by it for a few moments, and when his vision cleared, Sherlock was standing close. Wearing his familiar long dark coat, a bright red poppy on the lapel.

"You...here...". John couldn't process what this meant, on top of everything else.

Sherlock's arm came around his waist, guiding him forward. "It's OK, John. I got you."

Ten minutes later, John was on his sofa under a blanket, with his boots, tie and jacket off, a couple buttons of his shirt undone. Sherlock made tea and brought over a tray, passing John a cup, and settling beside him with his own.

They sat quietly like that, sipping the tea, and eventually John started to feel the fuzziness easing from his thoughts. He was able to breathe easier.

"Did you go to the ceremony last year?" Sherlock finally asked softly.

John looked down at his cup. "No. I just wasn't...I couldn't..."

Nodding, Sherlock shifted closer, so his leg was against John's. "Why did you go this time?"

"My therapist, the army therapist..." John started, but found it hard to continue.

Putting their cups back down on the tray, Sherlock took John in his arms, not saying a word. Just holding him tight, firmly.

At first John stiffened at the contact, but as the hug went on, he relaxed into it, leaning into Sherlock's warmth. He let out a shuddering breath.

Eventually, they laid down on the sofa, pillows at one end propping them up a little. Sherlock was on his back, and John lying on his side between him and the back of the sofa, the blanket over them. Without more prompting from Sherlock, John just started talking. About the first days of training at Sandhurst, to settling into army life in Kandahar. The work, the friends he made. The first one of his friends wounded in action. The first one killed. The first soldier that died under his care. His injury. The PTSD. Everything, everything, everything.

He spoke until the words were out of his head, until his voice was scratchy. Although he had been going to a therapist over a year, he brought up many things he had never touched on with her. He felt exhausted, wrung out.

Sherlock had been quiet, his eyes showing that he was interested, listening. When there were breaks, he hadn't tried to fill them, letting the silence lie still between them, until more thoughts came to John, and he continued talking.

He seemed to be able to read when John was done though. For a few minutes, he just held him tight, running his hands up and down his back, letting John wind down.

When he pulled back, his eyes searched John's. "You mentioned Andrew quite often. Was he one of your closest friends over there?"

John nodded. "Andy, yeah. We just clicked, you know? It felt like I'd known him forever within a month. We were always together in our off hours."

"Do you have pictures of him?" Sherlock asked.

Shifting on the sofa, Sherlock moved out of the way to let John get up. He retrieved his laptop from the desk. Setting it on the coffee table, he was soon scanning through his photos. He hadn't looked at them for a long time, and soon was showing Sherlock everything from his army days.

They both laughed at a picture of him sun tanning on a lounge chair in shorts and sunglasses. A pretty woman was sitting beside him with a big grin. Andy was sitting on another chair nearby, not looking impressed. There were a lot of other pictures of John with various women.

"I can see why they called you 'Three Continents Watson'. You sure got around." Sherlock commented drily.

John shrugged. "Half the time I'd end up with a broken heart, and Andy was always there for me. Cheering me up, getting me drunk."

"He was killed in the same attack you were injured in?" Sherlock said softly.

It was still hard to talk about that, even though it was over a year ago. "Yeah...I wasn't even told for weeks. I was in the hospital, with a surgery and a bad infection afterwards. A lot of drugs."

"Did he leave behind someone special? A girlfriend? A boyfriend?" Sherlock scrolled through the photos, stopping on one of John laughing with Andy.

John let a small chuckle at the question. Andy wasn't gay. But then again, John couldn't remember him being interested in any women. Was there a guy he liked, in that way?

His eyes fell to the picture on the laptop screen, seeing the warm look Andy was giving him...

He turned wide-eyed to Sherlock. "You think he liked me...that way...?"

He tilted his head a little to the side. "Perhaps. And perhaps you returned the feelings."

"But I'm not gay." John said, an automatic response. At Sherlock's disbelieving look, he dropped his gaze sheepishly. "I mean..you and I...it's different..."

Sherlock just shook his head, and got up. He didn't seem upset by John's offhand comment. "I'm going to the washroom."

John sighed, running his fingers through his hair. He closed his laptop, and realized how dark it was without its light. He turned on a lamp nearby.

When Sherlock returned, John tried to pin on a cheerful smile. "Look, you have been so fantastic today, supporting me, listening to me going on and on. Let me go get us some dinner, and I promise not to bring up the past again tonight."

Stepping closer, Sherlock draped his arms loosely around John's waist. "Naturally, this is a day that is going to stir up a lot of memories and emotions." He gave him a small kiss. "Dinner sounds good."

John smiled in relief. "Sit down. I'll run out and get some curry."

...

They ate, watching old episodes of "The IT Crowd". Sherlock seemed to relate a little too much with Moss. John didn't mention the past, although occasional thoughts would pop into his mind, odd comments Andy had made. John pushed them aside, trying to stay focused on his time with Sherlock.

He was feeling a little tired by the end of the second episode, his head ending up against Sherlock's shoulder. He didn't resist when Sherlock turned off the show, and led him to the bed. And despite the emotions of the day, he didn't have any nightmares, tucked against his side.

...

A couple nights later, John was back looking at all the pictures of Andy. Alone, with John, with others. Thinking about his comments on John's failed relationships. The one thing that stuck in his mind, repeating again and again, was Andy saying John hadn't found the right person yet. Right person. Not right 'woman'.

 **Tom, can I ask you something? -JW**

The reply came a few minutes later.

 **Of course. Anything. -TF**

John sighed, trying to come up with the right question. The right words.

 **When you signed me up for the subscription, you deliberately picked 'male', didn't you? -JW**

His heart was pounding. Sherlock had obviously seen something, from John's stories and pictures of his past. But Tom and his old friends, they had known Andy, known what he and John were like together...

 **Well, beyond your injury and adjusting being back in civilian life, we could tell you were missing Andy too...Grieving him. -TF**

John nodded to himself. Tom wasn't denying that it was an intentional choice, picking a male escort for John. His friends had thought he was in a relationship with Andy, and hadn't been bothered by it. Had they assumed it was some kind of open relationship, since John kept seeing women the whole time? Did that bother John, despite everything that had happened this year with Sherlock? Could he have been like that with other men? With Andy?

They texted back and forth a little more, catching up, before John said goodbye. He had a lot to think about.

…

-A/N:

-Remembrance Day is observed in many countries on November 11th. The date comes from World War I with hostilities formally ending "at the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month" in 1918.

-Bugles: Most ceremonies in British Commonwealth countries also include bugles sounding of the "Last Post", followed by the period of silence, followed by the sounding of "Reveille" or sometimes just "The Rouse" (often confused for each other). In the British military, the Last Post originally was sounded to signal that final sentry post had been inspected, and the army camp was secure for the night. During battles, it signaled to those who were still out and wounded or separated that the fighting was done, and to follow the sound of the call to find safety and rest. In memorial ceremonies it has two generally unexpressed purposes: the first is an implied summoning of the spirits of the Fallen to the cenotaph, the second is to symbolically end the day, so that the period of silence before the Rouse is blown becomes in effect a ritualised night vigil. For military purposes, the traditional night vigil over the slain was not just to ensure they were indeed dead and not unconscious or in a coma, but also to guard them from being mutilated or despoiled by the enemy, or dragged off by scavengers. This makes the ritual more than just an act of remembrance but also a pledge to guard the honour of war dead. The act is enhanced by the use of dedicated cenotaphs (literally Greek for "empty tomb") and the laying of wreaths—the traditional means of signalling high honours in ancient Greece and Rome (from Wikipedia).

-Red Poppies: The red remembrance poppy has become a familiar emblem of Remembrance Day due to the poem "In Flanders Fields" written by Canadian physician Lieutenant-Colonel John McCrae. These poppies bloomed across some of the worst battlefields of Flanders in World War I; their brilliant red colour became a symbol for the blood spilled in the war.

-The IT Crowd: BBC sitcom set in the IT dept of a large company, starring Chris O'Dowd (hot Irish cop from Bridesmaids), Richard Ayoade, and Katherine Parkinson (the eager reporter from The Reichenbach Fall Sherlock episode). Sadly, only 25 episodes so far. (More please!).


	13. December

There was a knock on the door.

Grimacing slightly, John wondered if he should answer or pretend to not be home. It might be some well-intentioned neighbor, wanting to invite him to a family gathering. He could be the awkward interloper, feeling like a third wheel all night, eating a meal that, no matter how good it was, wouldn't be like ones he had in the past, with family or close friends.

He had successfully avoided it at work, diverting people by getting them talking about their own holiday traditions. If pressed, he said he was spending the holidays with some friends. There were some mentions of the mysterious pirate they had seen John with at the Halloween party, which he didn't confirm or deny.

Sighing, John got up and put on a cheerful expression, ready to lie as much as needed, send them on their way thinking John had tons of plans. He did, actually. Looking through old pictures and letters. Listening to music that reminded him of his parents, of better times. Watching a comedy that his sister had loved. He had lost his parents in a car crash in his early twenties, his sister to an overdose a couple years later. The sharp pain had faded over the years, and he just liked to honor them that way at Christmas, when the season brought back so many memories.

His thoughts flew out of his head when Sherlock ended up being the one standing there, a bit of an uncomfortable grin on his face.

"Oh good. You are still here." He said, stepping into the bedsit and closing the door behind him. "Can you pack a small bag and be ready to go in about twenty minutes?"

"Bag? Go? Go where?" John chuckled, glad to see the man. It had been awhile, even though there had been frequent texts. He grabbed Sherlock's lapel, yanking him closer for some kisses.

Sherlock pulled back with a warm smile. "Stop that! We don't have time. Get moving." He went to the closet, rooting around until he threw John's old army duffel bag onto the rug. "That will do."

He kept rooting through everything, throwing a couple jumpers, trousers and shirts on top of the bag quickly.

"Sherlock!" John yanked him away from his clothes. "Talk to me."

Dropping an old pair of army boots near the pile, Sherlock sighed. "You'd be doing me a huge favor."

John waved for him to continue.

"Remember when I told you about my family? I can take them in small doses, but they want me there for a week! Mycroft will be dead by New Years if I'm around him that much." Sherlock ran his hands through his hair, leaving it sticking up a few places.

Smirking a little at seeing him so frazzled, John smoothed his hair down. "So, what is my part in all this?"

"Come with me. Please, John." Sherlock grabbed both of his hands, his green eyes beseeching. "Keep me sane, distract them from asking too many personal questions. I'll owe you big time for this."

Tilting his head a little, John gave him a suspicious look. "So, I'd be there just to help you out? This isn't some drummed up excuse to get me out of my place during the holidays? Some pity trip?"

"Hardly." Sherlock scoffed. "Come with me, and you'll understand. Plus, I want to spend some time with you, away from the city. I'll even show you where Sherlock the Pirate played as a kid."

Pulling away, John thought for a moment or two. Con: Instead of a meal, he'd get a whole awkward week with somebody else's family. Pro: He'd get to spend a whole week with Sherlock, meeting his family and learning more about his past. Con: Being out of the city...unable to get away if he wanted to. Pro: Being out of the city, a good break from his ordinary life and this tiny bedsit. Pro: Time with Sherlock. Pro: Sleeping with Sherlock. Pro: Sex with Sherlock.

"OK, on two conditions...". John finally said with a small smile.

"Yes?" Sherlock already seemed happy and relieved that John was agreeing. He really wanted this.

John swallowed hard, feeling a little nervous. "Um, that we have a code word that means we take a break, getting away from everyone else. And...that we share the same bedroom."

Grinning widely, Sherlock nodded. "Done. Now get moving."

...

"Sherlock..."

Rolling his eyes, Sherlock pulled away from showing John an old photo album to glare at his brother. "I'm busy. Can I ignore you some other time?"

John just kept his head down to hide his smirk. He'd only been at the Holmes' country house a couple days so far, but Mycroft was proving to be as annoying as Sherlock had described.

"If you're gonna be a smart ass, first you have to be smart. Otherwise you're just an ass." Mycroft shot back with a haughty tilt of his head.

"Boys! Just because it's Boxing Day doesn't mean you should be fighting. This is the holidays. Can you please let it rest?" Mrs. Holmes came in with a tray of tea, setting it down on a table nearby, and glared at her sons.

She shot John an apologetic look, as she poured him a cup. "I'm sorry it's been such a zoo around here, but now that our other guests are gone, I can get to know you better."

John took a sip of tea. He liked Sherlock's parents, intelligent although obviously not as brilliant as their sons, and still affectionate with each other after so many years of marriage. "That sounds nice."

"So, how long have you two been together?" Her eyes were very similar to Sherlock's, the same beautiful jade green that sometimes took on other hues. Unfortunately, they also seemed equally perceptive.

Sherlock glared at her. "Mother! I really don't think-"

Reaching over, John placed his hand on Sherlock's, making him stop mid-sentence in surprise. "We've been seeing each other since January, but it's been getting more serious since the summer."

She looked quite pleased at that. "What happened in the summer? What changed it?"

Sharing a glance with Sherlock, John couldn't help but smile at the memory. "Um, well, I went to the wedding of an old friend in Wales, and I didn't know that many people there. I left the reception fairly early, and your son surprised me at the hotel. I don't even know how he knew where I was staying, or when I'd show up. He's always surprising me like that."

Sherlock gave a small scoff. "I'm a detective, John. Figuring things out is my job." His mild complaint was undercut by giving John's hand a small squeeze.

Mrs. Holmes passed around a plate of shortbread. "Well, Sherlock hasn't brought anyone home for ages. I was completely shocked when he called me about it a few weeks ago-"

"Mother!" Sherlock interrupted, jumping to his feet and dragging John with him, whispering Absquatulate into his ear. Their code word for escape. "Um...I'm taking John down to the beach now."

John was still chuckling as they bundled up. "A few weeks ago?"

"Go away." Sherlock snapped, but with a warm look.

As they headed outside, John made a mental note to get Mrs. Holmes on her own as soon as possible. Here was his chance to get some great information on Sherlock, British Man of Mystery.

...

The rocky beach with its turbulent waters was John's favourite spot. He could walk along it for hours, watching the waves, the gulls. Loved the smell, the sound, the taste of salt on Sherlock's lips when he stole kisses.

Picking up a few rocks, Sherlock threw them hard into the ocean, watching how far they went before dropping into the water. "My favorite pirate was born not that far from here, in Hittisleigh. Samuel Bellamy, known as the 'Prince of Pirates'."

"Why?" John smirked at the idea that Sherlock had a 'favorite' pirate.

"He was known to be merciful and generous, not as ruthless as other pirates, even though he took 50 ships in one year. His crew called themselves 'Robin Hood's Men'." Sherlock explained, clearly passionate about the topic.

John didn't know much about pirates. "So, did he sail around this area much?"

Shaking his head, Sherlock gave a little smirk. "No, it was much more lucrative to ambush ships on the triangle trade. They would take slaves from Africa to America, and then take goods back to Europe to sell. He captured one on its maiden voyage full of sugar, rum, gold, and over 10,000 coins. The biggest pirate prize ever captured. He modified the ship, stripping it down to be faster but adding more cannons."

"And he retired a rich man on a tropical island?" John asked.

Knowing John was teasing him, Sherlock just continued on with his tale. "No, the ship sank a year later in a storm and wasn't discovered until 1984. They are still excuvating the site every summer."

They walked further down the beach, and then headed back. It was too cold to stay out too long.

"I've thought of a better nickname for you." John teased.

Sherlock groaned. "Well, anything is better than 'sweetie' or 'gum drop'. Or 'Twinkie', 'Cream Poof', or anything with a fruit reference. I got enough of that at school."

"You were teased for being gay back then? Did you have boyfriends?" John couldn't help but ask, trying to imagine Sherlock as a teenager.

Sherlock scoffed. "No, nothing too obvious. I was a little anti-social, preferring books over sports, therefore 'gay' in their eyes."

"Well, I'm gay as well, so I'm hardly going to call you a derogatory slur." John said.

That stopped Sherlock in his tracks. "That's the first time I've heard you call yourself 'gay'. I would have thought you would use 'bi' instead."

"You got me thinking about things, and I did a lot of research. Talked to my therapist and some friends." John had tried to keep an open mind, by reading lots, giving it time to sink in, before reading more. Watching lots of videos of men telling their 'coming out' stories, and their journey on how they figured out what felt right. Facing up to who they truly were.

Sherlock took John's hand, swinging it a little as they continued on. "You really have been looking into this. I'm impressed."

Giving a shrug, John glanced his way. "I'm still figuring it all out, but I'm thinking the reasons all my relationships with women didn't last was because I'm not really meant to be with one. There's so many labels out there. Perhaps I'm sexually attracted to both men and women, but romantically, more inclined towards men."

They walked on, still holding hands. John had long ago stopped trying to label the relationship with Sherlock. Things changed too much, and he was just happy to accept the man as he was. He didn't fit into categories neatly, being such a unique man. John just took things one day at a time, with no real expectations.

"So, what is the great new nickname, then?" Sherlock gave his hand a squeeze, pulling him out of his thoughts.

John grinned. "Altoid."

Letting out a bark of laughter, Sherlock shot him a playful glare. "Those awful chalky mint tablet things? How flattering."

"You fit their slogan, 'Dangerously Spicy'." He felt quite proud of coming up with it.

Sherlock shook his head. "I'm no expert in popular culture, but even I know that their slogan is 'Curiously Strong'. That makes me sound like a circus freak or something."

"Oh shit, you're right. I still think the name suits you though. They are a lot to take, and aren't to everyone's taste, but I really like them." John argued, unwilling to give up on his idea.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Sheesh...that's so corny. How about 'Brighton Rock' instead, because it's so long and hard? And you want to suck it for hours?"

They argued about nicknames all the way back to the house.

...

"Thanks again for coming out for the holidays. I had a great time." Sherlock said, setting John's duffle bag on floor. He had insisted on walking him to the door of his bedsit.

Looking around the room with a sigh, it looked even smaller than before to John. "Thank you for getting me out of London. It was educational."

"Educational." Sherlock scoffed. "So, um, see you next month?" He seemed in no hurry to leave, despite spending a whole week with John.

"No, I don't want to wait weeks before I see you again. See you next week. How about Wednesday? I'll cook." John said, not wanting the man to go.

Nodding, Sherlock gathered John into his arms. "Sounds good." He leaned in for a long kiss, that John happily returned.

Things heated up, with Sherlock soon kicking the door shut as John tugged him towards the bed. Clothes went flying. They had sex all week, but it was all a little restrained, trying to keep from being too loud. Here, they could just be themselves.

John kissed along Sherlock's jaw, while he reached down to stroke him slowly, loving the deep moan he got in response. Grabbing the lube from the nightstand, he soon had Sherlock ready.

When he reached for a condom, Sherlock stilled his hand. "We can do it without, if you want. I'm always safe, and get tested every six months. And you were tested last month..."

Not bothering to ask how Sherlock knew that, John gathered him close, peppering his face with kisses. "Really? You want to try that?" He had fantasized about it. He hadn't had a serious relationship for years where they had gone without them.

Flushing slightly, Sherlock nodded. "Yeah, so much. I want to feel you, no barriers. Just you and me..."

Nodding, John's hand shook a little as he lubed himself up. Shifting into place, he held Sherlock's eyes as he slowly thrust into him, both of them trying to sense if it felt different.

"Oh, Sherlock..." John gasped, dropping his head to his shoulder. "You feel so tight and hot around me. So good." Already, he was moving slowly, not wanting this to be over too fast.

Looking already close to the edge, Sherlock shifted under John, his breath catching. "Yes, John...right there..."

During this last week, John had learned what Sherlock liked, and he pulled out. When Sherlock glared at him, he simply chuckled. "Turn over, I want to try something."

Huffing, Sherlock rolled on to his knees, his legs spread to give John space behind him, his head down against the bed.

John pushed slowly back in, doing a few full thrusts. Then, he pulled back so only a few inches were inside Sherlock, and started doing small circular motions. He knew when he found the right place when Sherlock gasped, jerking against him.

Closing his eyes, John pressed down firmly, rubbing the head of his cock over and around Sherlock's prostate. His most sensitive spot right against Sherlock's. Nothing but lube between them. Circles and small strokes, right there.

Gasping, Sherlock started stroking his own cock, the lube making a wet sound as his hand moved fast. "John, John, John...just like that..."

It was something they both liked normally, but without a condom was even more intense. John loved hearing Sherlock's reactions, moaning and panting himself.

When Sherlock started to cum, John pushed deep, staying there, feeling the way he squeezed him, every second of his orgasm. He pulled out slowly, and rolled Sherlock over, loving seeing his face still flushed, his chest heaving.

Cuddling against his side, John pressed his cock against Sherlock's hip as he leaned in for a kiss.

"You didn't...?" Sherlock asked, pushing against John.

Shaking his head, John gave him a slow smile. "Not yet."

Lifting Sherlock's hand to his mouth, he licked off the cum, taking his time, enjoying it. He got a warm, wet facecloth, and cleaned them both up. Sherlock chuckled when John settled between his legs, kissing his stomach.

Kissing downwards, John loved Sherlock like this. Completely relaxed from his orgasm, letting John touch him anywhere. His cock was soft, fitting easily into his mouth, resting against his tongue. John licked and sucked gently, as he stroked over his balls. Moving fingers into Sherlock, John always felt aroused at feeling him after being fucked, warm and a little looser. His prostate sensitive when he brushed over it. John kept playing, his mouth moving down to kiss and suck his balls, Sherlock's hand stroking through his hair lazily.

He could tell when things changed, Sherlock's breath catching with a certain brush over his prostate. John took his cock back into his mouth, sucking more intently. He was getting harder, responding to the flicks of John's tongue. He knew just what he liked best.

Sherlock eventually pushed him away. "Enough! Fuck me, now!"

Grinning as he lubed up some more, John crawled over the man. They both groaned when he pushed back in, and this time, Sherlock's long legs were around John, keeping him in place.

John kept a steady pace, wanting Sherlock to cum again. Arching off the bed, Sherlock's thrusts matched his, twisting for the best sensations. John came first, pushing deep with a groan, and Sherlock freezing below him. Filling him up. Sherlock moaned at the sensation, his hand working hard. John took over, looking down as Sherlock panted, his second orgasm still powerful, leaving him limp.

...

Hours later, John staggered out of the bed, coming back with two bottles of cold water and taking a long sip from his own. He cuddled along Sherlock's side, chuckling when he saw it was after midnight. "We fucked our way into the new year."

"The best way to celebrate it, in my humble opinion." Sherlock grinned, stealing a quick kiss.

John's lips quirked into a grin as a thought hit him. "So, does that count as the December ambush or January's?"

Sherlock scoffed, shifting his pillows behind his head. "There are two errors in that question. One, we had sex at least a dozen times in December, so that ambush was thoroughly satisfied. And there is no January ambush officially. Your subscription has expired."

Despite everything that had happened in the last week, John felt a pang of pure dread zip through him. He pulled back, his eyes searching Sherlock's face, trying to read it, but he seemed perfectly calm.

"Um, yes, I guess that's right." John swallowed hard, knowing he had to ask, even though hearing the answer could crush him. "And...do you have another man, another client, for this year?"

Sherlock gave a slow grin, clearly reading the emotions on John's face. He laid his hand on his shoulder. "No, I'm not working there anymore. I was under the impression that my boyfriend wouldn't like me fucking other men."

Relief swept through John, and he hugged Sherlock tight. "No, he wouldn't like that at all." He pushed his hands into Sherlock's hair, giving him some long, ardent kisses, before working his way down his neck. Making Sherlock jump a little with a hard bite that was sure to leave a mark. John looked at it, rubbing his fingers over it, some deep elemental part of him loved seeing it on his man. He looked up at Sherlock. "Mine."

There was a flash of heat and deeper feelings in Sherlock's eyes, and he nodded. "Yours." He pushed John onto his back, crawling over him and making some marks of his own.

They didn't fall asleep until the wee hours of the morning.

...

A pounding on the door was what eventually roused them. John glanced at the clock and groaned. "Fuck, it's after 12." He dragged himself out of the bed and yanked on his bathrobe, going to his desk to root around for his cheque book.

He looked back at Sherlock, appearing deliciously rumpled in his bed. "It's just my landlady, looking for January's rent. Normally I'd pay her before the 1st but somebody kidnapped me for a week."

He went to the door, apologizing to the older woman standing there. "Sorry, I'll write you a cheque right away." He waved the cheque book at her. "Back in a second."

Not wanting her to see more of his private life than necessary, John closed the door to leave her in the hallway. Normally, he would have let her in, but the sight of Sherlock looking like he did was for his eyes only. He grinned to himself at this unexpected possessive streak around his boyfriend, as he went to his desk to write up the cheque.

He was about to sign it when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked up at Sherlock, standing beside him in just his boxer briefs.

"What if you don't pay the rent?" Sherlock asked.

John's eyebrows shot up at the question. "Well, I'd think it was pretty obvious. She'd kick me out and I'd be homeless."

"Not necessarily homeless..." Sherlock said, and John could see excitement mixed with a bit of fear in his eyes. This was a big thing to ask. To share his home, his life. A big thing between them.

Could he do it? John's heart thumped as he thought about it. Living in that crazy, messy apartment, sharing a bed with Sherlock, seeing him whenever their schedules allowed, cuddling on the sofa eating take away...

Standing up, he grabbed Sherlock and gave him a deep, long kiss. "Yes, I'd love to live with you, Sherlock, assuming that's what you mean and not that you know of a different place for me."

Reaching down, Sherlock took the cheque and tore it up. "That's exactly what I meant." His smile was the biggest one John had seen yet.

"You realize you'll have to help me move." John shot over his shoulder as he went to the door to tell his former landlady the news.

By the time he was done, Sherlock was already rooting around in his closet, throwing a bunch of his jumpers into a pile on the floor. "Sherlock!"

"I'm just weeding out the things you can get rid of. It will make packing up the rest faster." Sherlock smirked, pulling out some more clothes he eyed with distaste, before dumping them on the pile.

John shook his head. "I'll make a deal with you. I'll get rid of the jumpers you don't like if you get rid of all the chemistry stuff in your kitchen."

That started a long bout of haggling, each standing their ground. By the end, Sherlock picked out the three sweaters he disliked the most for exchange for leaving half the kitchen table empty so John could eat meals there.

It didn't take that long to pack everything up, since it was a furnished apartment and John hadn't had the money or inclination to buy much. As he closed the door to the small bedsit, he silently said goodbye to his old life there, and followed Sherlock down the steps, heading to an exciting new one.

…

-A/N: Thanks to everyone for reading. You have been wonderful & so supportive.

-Absquatulate. "This refers to yourself or someone else leaving suddenly. It can also mean that someone has absconded with something, as well. It is more a form of slang, but it isn't something you hear every day!"

-"Altoids are a brand of breath mints. The brand was created by the London-based Smith & Company in the 1780s, and later became part of the Callard & Bowser company in the 19th century. Their advertising slogan is "The Original Celebrated Curiously Strong Mints", referring to the high concentration of peppermint oil used in the original flavour lozenge." Wiki.

-Brighton rock candy: This is a stick of hard candy, normally 1-2.5 cm (0.39–0.98 in) in diameter and 20–25 cm (7.9–9.8 in) long. These cylinders usually have a pattern embedded throughout the length, which is often the name of the seaside resort (Brighton, Blackpool, etc) where the rock is sold, so that the name can be read on both ends of the stick (reversed at one end) and remains legible even after pieces are bitten off.


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